


As Dusk Falls – Finale of the Princess of Dawn Trilogy

by Solrosfalt



Series: Princess of Dawn Trilogy [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F, Hostage Situations, Intrigue, Mentions of Child Abuse (it's Katarina), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possession, War, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solrosfalt/pseuds/Solrosfalt
Summary: The world, as it was once known, has changed. The ocean to Valentia has opened with new possibilities. Aurelis and Archanea stand together in a united empire, a silent sovereign on an unshakable foundation. Altea prospers under its queen. Prince Marth is at her right hand, once the Hero and Liberator, now with his sword set aside in a time of peace.In Macedon, Minerva's crown rests easier on her brow as she is once again surrounded by those she trusts. There is one final festering presence that she needs to see purged before her hope for her queendom can be restored, though there are veiled threats in every action she takes, conspiracies beyond her control, and as a shadow once again threatens to engulf every corner of the continent, she and her friends must return to what they once were, and hope it is enough.
Relationships: Abel/Est (Fire Emblem), Clea | Clair/Katua | Catria, Julian/Lena (Fire Emblem), Katarina/My Unit | F!Kris (background), Maria & Minerva (Fire Emblem), Marth/Sheeda | Caeda, Minerva & Misheil | Michalis, Minerva/Paora | Palla
Series: Princess of Dawn Trilogy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1473146
Comments: 27
Kudos: 24





	1. Prologue - Carving A New History

**Author's Note:**

> And so it begins! I'm very happy to present the final work in the Princess of Dawn saga, it's going to be a wild ride following canon in sol-headcanon-town

A dull and dusty air hung in the depths of Thabes’ buried tower, where the winds of Khadein did not reach. The tower was a strange anomaly, built to be below ground like a nail in the coffin of its ancient civilization, and few living had set their feet further down than the first few basements—that much was clear from the millennia of grime that covered the floors.

Though now the floors were marked by criss-crossed patterns across the stone, left by the sweeping cloak where the witchmaker Chetus had walked, the once-violet fabric stained beyond recognition. He took little notice of the state of his clothes, though he saw everything in that room clear as day. Darkness did not dull the sight of one once blessed by Duma, just as cold and heat did not cause discomfort. Chetus’ search through the buried civilization of Khadein was fluent, simple.

He would go so far as to call this entire continent by the same names, but it was far too fascinating to insult in such a way. Archanea was a closed book, an unpolished gem, so rich with history it did not know its own true roots. Its magic—completely different from Valentia’s innately powered forces—had never melded with the ability to touch a creature’s very essence and soul.

As such, the continent of Archanea was both innocent as a child and wise as an ancient dragon. A fascinating place indeed, seething of untapped potential and filled to the brim with people too foolish to see it. Although, Chetus had learned that Archanea’s recent history spoke of one who _had_ attempted to use that potential and used it to bend the continent to his will.

Gharnef, his name had been. Chetus had caught wind of his existence from an Archanean merchant chiding his son, an offhand comment on how ‘ _Gharnef would return and curse his name_ ’ if he kept misbehaving. It was similar enough to how the former Zofians of “New Valentia” hissed out ‘ _Duma Faithful_ ’, thus it had caught Chetus’ attention.

Two months he had spent trying to unearth the history behind this despised figure, and ultimately learned that the citizens of this continent believed it permanently purged. Not that such a trifle had discouraged Chetus—as a witchmaker of decently corrupt morality, death was a relative concept to him.

Soul magic was not able to raise the dead, only to imitate life. Chetus, honored by a position among the driven researchers by the base of Rigel’s Maw until mere months ago, had dedicated all his time to not be content by such imitations. He had never been content in his life, hating the limits of human existence—his body was too frail and his mind could not hold all the information he wished it to—so he did everything it took to remove the pressure of death. People came to Rigel’s Maw by his design, and they did not return.

The husks he had managed to raise was not alive in any sense, soul magic or not, but he had been close to a discovery of the ages—that pieces of a being may _linger_. Those of a magic disposition blended with their environment for a brief time after their final breath, fragments of their essence settling into artifacts or objects or in the immediate air of the place of their death. A few more years and Chetus would have risen above Ser Jedah, become an equal to the great Duma himself.

An assured future, if fate had been kinder. Word came to Rigel’s Maw mid-experiment, tools dropped and spells interrupted. Duma, in all his deranged glory, had been unjustly slain by a boy-king and a frail Mila priestess. As to be expected from such whelps, all soul magic research had been halted once they took their thrones, and more than a few of Chetus’ stubborn colleagues were slain in the aftermath. By refusing to put their magic practices aside, they became nothing but targets to the brother of the cursed queen, a pathetic excuse for a knight that still struck fear into the fearless.

Now all of the Faithful bowed to a new order, one without gods. “New Valentia”, a kingdom of unity, where young Duma Faithful saw no other option than to grovel together with Mila’s spoiled brats. They no longer wanted to push the boundaries of magic if it meant they’d be hunted for sport.

Chetus too had been given the choice to conform or die. As was his way, he chose neither.

There was no point in fighting a losing battle with an entire continent turned against him, not when he saw the option to stow away on an unassuming merchant ship.

Valentia may be closed to him, but Chetus did not grieve that loss. He would find a new home, a new place to research, and besides that, find a new god to worship. Or better yet, make his _own_ god, and become its master. The thought had struck him many times before as he had watched Duma’s unfathomable form incinerate with a glare—to bow down to that massive power was the easy choice, but the more Chetus dug into the wondrous mystery of soul magic, the more he realized that it was not the _only_ choice.

The time for easy choices was done, if he truly wanted to unravel the mysteries of the universe—he would have to become something otherworldly, something _impeccable_. The knowledge of the entire world would finally be his to entice, and the curiousness that had led him down deeper into soul magic would finally be sated.

But first he needed to attain the knowledge of one corrupted and fractured Archanean.

Whoever had rinsed Thabes of magic traps and devices had done a thorough job, but they had not ventured into the far depths of the buried tower, and that was their mistake. This had been Gharnef’s home, as much as such a creature needed a home, and if there was anywhere for fractions of him to linger... This had to be the place.

Chetus found what he was looking for soon enough.

Upon an untouched pedestal was a tome with such horrendous energy, even Lord Duma would have shuddered in its presence. The tome was without an inscription—even so, Chetus knew.

The chronicles about Gharnef’s life had been difficult to obtain, seeing as those who knew him were either dead or would rather forget him, though Chetus was nothing if not persistent. Two months had been enough.

Through the might of a tome (of what the Archaneans called _veil magic_ ), Gharnef had corrupted his essence into something that no longer held any recognition of life, thus death had no tether to him. The only way to reverse that immortality was through _Starlight_ , a tome of equal but opposite power, and through dumb luck and some near-divine guidance, a mere brat had succeeded.

Said brat was now the Archmagus of Archanea. Chetus had attempted to encounter her to learn more of Gharnef’s life, but she had spotted him before he had the chance to speak, and immediately refused to let him try. She’d nearly killed him, in truth. Suspicious one, that—she’d seemed so happy-go-lucky, and Chetus hated being tricked. Once he was the master of a god, he’d be rid of her, if not sooner.

The near-death experience aside, Chetus had learned what he’d set out to learn. Gharnef’s tome was called Imhullu, and it was powerful enough to tear life asunder and reshape it.

Valentian witches were separated from their body, which made their bodies able to die, but for as long as Duma had lived, they had lived on within him… Theoretically, even a piece of Chetus had lived and died with the God of Rigel, and taken a piece of Duma for himself.

It was a simple trade, when all came down to it. Powerful magic required powerful sacrifice and powerful artifacts held on to pieces of that sacrifice. What would make Imhullu different?

Chetus ripped open the pages of Imhullu in one decisive motion. It was said to corrupt all human hands who touched it, but lucky for Chetus, he was already corrupted enough. He traced the pages without reading the words, slowly nodding to himself.

“Yes,” he whispered. “You are here.”

He created the runes of white from the air, runes that speak of _taking_ , of _trading_ , of _separation_. Every witchmaker knew them by heart, but now, he needed to twist them.

 _Come to me_ , he wrote. _I welcome you. Tell me what you know. Become me. I do not mind._

It was a mild start, almost soothing. It always worked to calm the would-be witches down, but the second part was another story.

The void within Imhullu screamed at him. Its letters crawled into his skin, and indeed, it was not just a tome in there. The screams of fury were that of a person, or at least something that resembled one.

It was painful, but Chetus merely smiled. His mind scrambled in front of his eyes, and he let it happen. He was once Chetus, one distinct although draconically powered soul, but in the next moment, he was someone…less distinct.

Perhaps he was Gharnef. Perhaps not.

It was a very new experience for him, and he stood unmoving with his fingers curled around the podium of Imhullu, still with a smile on his face.

“Gharnef,” he greeted the second soul fraction. Naming him would help to pinpoint him.

_Who speaks—what worm—will defy me—?_

Gharnef spoke in a cacophony, three similar voices at the same time.

“I do not defy you,” Chetus objected. “I would never. In fact, I believe we can help each other.”

Gharnef contemplated his words. There was a somewhat functional mind behind the chaos—the mage that had been was a genius, of that Chetus had been certain before, and now even more so.

_I live._

“Technically,” Chetus answered.

He could feel the grin spread on his own face, and he let it happen.

_I live… A second chance… Archanea’s fate is inescapable._

He had desired the world, Gharnef’s memories told him. He had been burning with ambition to become the world’s most powerful mage and not be bound by death. A common enough wish amongst mages, but he had actually succeeded. The Gharnef with him now remembered only those wishes, nothing of friends or family except that he knew how he could use those bonds in others.

Such cunning. It was a delight to partake in.

 _You are not fully human_ , Gharnef pointed out, and he seemed equally delighted. _You are… Yes, I see…_

The knowledge of Valentia, of Duma and all of soul magic’s greatest secrets, all torn through in the space of a breath. Chetus let out a choked laugh.

 _I see_ , Gharnef repeated again, and Chetus straightened. He felt as though his back was on fire and that all his shadows were watching him. Absolutely thrilling.

_With all this magic… my plan would finally be complete… we could fully awaken Medeus, take control of the remaining dragons…_

“Think…bigger.” Chetus struggled to keep his voice from bending into Gharnef’s. “You would choose to become the master of anyone… and you’d choose an Earth Dragon?”

 _He survived many purges by the humans_ , Gharnef hissed. _His divinity… there is no question… All dragons heed him._

“There aren’t that many left, unfortunately,” Chetus said. “And I cannot take souls back from the veil beyond. Only take what fractions remain here… And what remains in the land of Archanea more than the most powerful god of them all?”

Gharnef’s being curled and twisted excitedly within him.

_…Naga._

“Precisely,” Chetus agreed. He could feel his face changing, maybe to become more like the soul trapped within him. “Medeus body is powerful enough to hold her, I believe… and it is fresh enough. Dragons take a long time to rot.“

He drew a deep breath, and opened his mind fully. He offered everything he had to give, knowing what he’d gain would be infinitely more.

_Yes, tell me, tell me…_

His face kept changing, but it wasn’t like he’d been very attached to that face of his to begin with. He melded and separated, his thoughts sometimes not his. The images of what they needed flashed from one mind to another, like cards put down on a table one by one.

Until finally, mere minutes after he’d taken Imhullu in his hands, the plan was complete.

\---

Holy Emperor Hardin of the Aurelio-Archanean Empire reached for his cup of sparkling apple wine, far from his first. Might have been his seventh, or tenth, not that he thought it mattered.

This wasn’t like him. Sparkling apple wine was only allowed for Archanea’s nobles, and only to peruse during high festivities. Hardin hadn’t exactly liked the taste of it before, but right now he didn’t care for taste.

They’d served this wine at his wedding. _Their_ wedding. Gods—he needed to forget, he needed to keep his heart from crawling out of his throat—

His fingers couldn’t grasp the handle and it spilled over his sleeves. Someone banged on his door. It had to be Wolf or Sedgar—the pieces of Aurelis he had not been able to leave behind, because while it would have made sense to leave Aurelis’ best to protect his homeland as the unification between their nations proceeded, the comfort was too great in hearing them still call him ‘ _Coyote’_.

Clinging to the past, even then. Even when he’d been comfortable with the title Emperor, even when he’d believed his joy was true, he had wanted his old friends there to witness him. Now, perhaps they were the only ones he truly had left to count on.

The door banged again. Hardin threw his cup at it.

“I will see _no one,_ ” he roared. He leaned over the table, hiccupping through tears that embarrassed as much as they hurt. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this, much less the knights he cared for so.

He didn’t trust himself to not let his fury spill over and burden them. It would be unjust, because this was not their hurt to bear. Hardin’s anger was with himself, because gods be damned, he should have _realized_.

He should have realized that Nyna’s love was an unattainable dream. He should have seen the signs.

But like a naïve child, he had let himself believe her. He’d taken her words for granted, and somehow he had not thought to notice how her eyes were always downcast when he looked at her.

A mocking chorus had followed his confident strides, only audible to his ears now that he saw the reflection of his life. A disaster waiting to happen, and the day before had been the day his doom was realized.

He had looked to Nyna as he always did, spoken his greeting—‘ _My star shines in the morning yet again, I see! Know that_ _I love you more than anything else, my Empress.’_ (so sugary sweet and so godsdamned _oblivious_ ); and as he saw how Nyna’s stiff nod truly was not her regular staidness, but _discomfort_ …

He had turned his back to the warm light, watched the face of his beloved cast in shadow. And he had forced himself to ask.

_Nyna, is there… Is anything the matter?_

How indifferently she had denied it, and how confused it had left him. Confused, but with sudden clarity. She was playing a charade, and growing ever tired by it. Hardin was part of a lie. So asking her yet again did not feel out of place, but his heart remained deflated, knowing the answer before she met his eyes and told him the truth.

_Hardin. You are a great man, and a good husband. You are dear to me, and I respect you. But if you ask for my love, I will only disappoint you._

He regretted speaking. He regretted ever looking at Nyna. He regretted the trust he’d taken for granted, his reckless hopes.

He felt disgusting, that he’d kissed her, held her, all while it was something she didn’t actually enjoy. He hated himself that he hadn’t noticed. He hated that he still wanted to feel her lips on his, that the fool of his heart still longed for the idea of her love. He’d never wanted to cause her discomfort, and yet he _had_ , he had for _years_ —

Someone called his name. It wasn’t her, was it? He put his hands over his ears, his body shaking.

“Go away!” he cried. “I said I will see no one!”

Everything grew silent and still around him, and a whisper carried on the wind leaking in through the closed windows.

Hardin looked up. The room seemed darker, now. The door remained locked shut, but as though floating through the reinforced walls, a shadow moved toward him. A cloaked figure, gray of skin.

“Gharnef.” Hardin grabbed the bottle of wine. He’d clearly had enough, and now he squinted at it as though demanding it answer for his mistake.

“I’ll answer to that name, if that’s what you wish to call me.”

A pair of glowing eyes looked into his, and they shifted between yellow and bright green, a creeping swirl of color locked in a battle for unattainable harmony. Hardin was not certain he remembered Gharnef’s eyes behaving in such a way before, a strange detail for a memory to bring to light.

“You’re not real,” Hardin muttered, pulled his free hand over his face. “You were slain. Just go away.”

The vacant chair in front of Hardin did not creak, no sound from the figure that materialized upon it.

Hardin merely glanced at the slush of brittle gray smoke. The image of Gharnef had moved—so what? Mind ghosts were nothing new to him, in fact, Hardin would be hard-pressed to believe there was anyone from the old League that was not haunted by the scars Gharnef’s magic had left on their minds and bodies. The past buried that pain—pain shared in the camaraderie of the League, friendships growing even out of scorched earth…friendships Hardin had placed his hope into, and even then _—even THEN, Nyna was—_

The stab of pain in his chest was interrupted as the bottle hovered away from his hands, disappeared from his sight. It distracted him enough to lose his train of thought entirely; even so, the ghost from his memory did not disappear.

“You would ask me to leave?” Gharnef smiled at him. “All this self-loathing…I couldn’t have kept away if I tried. I would have come for you either way, you see, but this… is a delightful turn in my favor. You cannot fight me like this.”

His words coiled in Hardin’s chest, pushing some of the helpless hatred away, giving his mind the space to realize that something was _too_ different about this mind ghost. They were usually but shadows at the edge of his vision, shadows that the radiant joy Nyna had given him could push away—they never spoke, and their eyes never pierced. Not like this.

“I could fight you in any state,” Hardin said, struggling through the clumsiness of his tongue, and cast an eye on Gradvius—it lay just beside his bed, and he tensed his knuckles, readying his arms to reach for it.

A ghastly laugh filled the room. Hardin clenched his teeth. If this was somehow real—which it couldn’t be—he knew he could not harm Gharnef with weapons alone. What he _could_ do was to stall this darkness until Linde noticed it, Linde who lived right between these palace walls, just like him, just like Nyna—and gods, maybe, maybe Linde had known all along what Nyna’s tight lips had meant—

“ _Emperor_ ,” Gharnef chuckled, interrupting the new stab of hatred, and somehow also making it worse. “You _thrill_ me. I see your very essence, and I delight in the darkness. Self-loathing is such a powerful thing… Seems like this will be easier than expected.”

Hardin felt a chill in his throat. _Stall_ , he told himself, trying to move his hand toward the door, and finding he couldn’t. His arms were tense, stiff as though lodged with metal rods. He fought his panic with the chill he’s mastered as a soldier prince. He was _Hardin_ , a victor, an emperor, and not someone who would lose to a mirage.

“If you truly live,” Hardin said coldly, “then tell me why you’ve waited this long.”

“I’ve been biding my time,” Gharnef answered simply. “My previous engrossments are not important, Emperor; I wish only for your eyes to open to the future I will create. You will have the honor of creating it beside me, should you wish.”

Hardin’s eyes narrowed. The pleasant tone to Gharnef’s voice was eerily familiar, the hollow darkness behind it even more so, and he wondered what was taking everyone so long—of all the times his friends would listen to him as he yelled at them to leave, why _now_?

Gharnef’s eyes dug into him like daggers spreading poison in Hardin’s veins, words and sensations moving with every beat of his heart. He could not block this out if he tried.

“You desire to be loved,” Gharnef’s message swirled in his head. “You, as so many throughout history, have fallen for one of the blessed stars of Archanea. Even knowing that you could never be good enough to measure up to their legacy, you still hoped the signs you saw in her were true reflections of your own affection. A ridiculous notion. How could Nyna take a fancy to you? You’re not the true hero of Archanea, Marth is. You’re not her beloved savior, that was Camus. You do not even make her smile—a lowly knight manages to, but not you? How could you not see that Prince Hardin was nothing but a necessity, an innkeeper providing her walls and security—or, more accurately, a _prison_?”

Hardin couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t close his eyes to shut out the pain, either. He no longer controlled his own being; he tensed his throat to shout but could do nothing but hiss.

“Fiend… You do not know me.”

Gharnef ignored him, placed a sphere on the table.

“This is the Darksphere,” he said. “An old crystal from the Fane of Raman. You helped Gotoh collect two similar pieces to make Starlight, did you not? They hold a special kind of power. This particular sphere created _me_ , and it will give you the power to make your own stand, Emperor. You can lay the world at your feet, become someone truly meant for Nyna’s eye.”

“Shut up,” Hardin hissed. “What a foul being like you do not grasp… I cannot undo… what I’ve done… and I cannot _win_ her love… and certainly not by ravaging the world I helped build.”

His head really wasn’t clear. He was hurt and confused, but at least he knew _that_. The fact that Gharnef’s words and control couldn’t take that knowledge away was a strange reassurance. He was _Hardin_ , a victor, an emperor—

“Come now,” Gharnef repeated, the strange pulsating orb beginning to hover as Gharnef drew strange shapes into the table with his fingers—white runes of some kind. “I am being polite and giving you an option to do this out of your own free will, but I see you don’t want to be taken. I don’t have endless patience, and while this is a profound magical effort, it is _nothing_ to the part of me that holds Gharnef, that _am_ Gharnef.”

It was true, then, this Gharnef was not the same as the one they had fought, once before. Maybe he could be harmed, if only Hardin fought him long enough. Magic prickled his skin like ice, pulled at his hands, but he refused, he refused, he _refused_ —

“A new Archanea will come,” Gharnef continued, the runes coming to life and dancing around them both like flecks of snow. “We shall lay waste even to Valentia, once the true goddess is reborn.”

The pulsating orb hovered closer, the strange aura subduing some of Hardin’s struggles. In it he saw a twisted mirror, images he could not understand, but they enticed him… pulled at him…

“You see, my plan cannot tolerate interruption, so I have need of a few… distractions. Be the tip of my spear, use your power as you see fit—your hatred will guide you.”

Hardin’s arm moved on its own accord. He could no longer struggle against it, the mirror before him drawing his mind, Gharnef’s control steering his limbs.

 _Stall_ , a weak voice still whispered inside him. He managed to shut his eyes, hoping that meant he had regained some control. If only he could get word out to Linde, call for her help—

The sphere touched his hand, and that thought stopped in his tracks as his heart blackened.

Even with his eyes clenched shut, Hardin saw the image of the Macedonan army before him. Red and gold, trampling his beloved Aurelis, the roars of their wyverns echoing across mountain and plain. Those memories cut at his mind until it bled, leaving nothing in its wake.

He had worked to forge alliances, but no more. Unforgivable offenses had been made, and Macedon, Gra, Grust—they would all burn.

_It was time for revenge._

Macedon’s crimes faded, and instead, Nyna’s impassive gaze blinked in his direction. She stood shrouded in grey, and her face slowly twisted in disgust. A look that drilled holes into his chest, as the darkness spread. Nyna thought herself too good for him, the darkness told him, and she had told him the truth only to make him suffer.

He had blamed himself for not realizing her indifference sooner, but no more. He deserved her, and it was her fault for not recognizing that he did.

_It was time for redemption._

Nyna turned away, and walked out of the gray shroud, her jewelled neck gleaming in sudden light. She faced a balcony, where Marth’s small statue waved over the sea of his allies; an image that drowned in blood and fire.

Hardin would not be remembered as a hero, and he had been content with that. But no more. No more.

 _It was time for CHANGE_.

He remembered nothing else, as the essence of all that was _Hardin_ burned to the ground, and nothing remained but the unyielding, never-ending fury.

It was time for change, indeed.  
  



	2. Whispers and Smoke

Summer’s light came early through the reinforced southern window. The permanent swirl of beating wings was not enough to wake Minerva, but the shadow cast as a sky knight passed above their window was jarring enough when the sunlight returned stronger than before, as though the sun spited the moment it did not reach through the wooden blinds and wanted to make up for lost time.

A hand cupped her head, shading her face, and that made it easier for Minerva to open her eyes.

Night-time storms had ravaged Minerva’s dreams for years, but in later months, the skies had been clear. The past held no tether to her; she faced the stars as she soared, transparent silks holding her safely in place. She got the idea in her head that she should smile up at the sky, as if expecting the stars to smile back, but she never did.

One day, she might. In these morning moments with Palla laughing quietly from the pit of her pillow that she’d burrowed into, smiling came easily.

Palla abandoned her pillow and slipped in tightly between Minerva’s arms. ‘ _Wife_ ’, she mumbled into her chest as a good morning.

“Wife,” Minerva mumbled back, and Palla laughed quietly to herself again, that unfathomable joyous reality never quite believable for either of them. Three months, and yet their mornings almost always begun like this.

It was a life that could only blossom in these silent, private moments, before they faced the world again—but one day, this could be their constant reality. Minerva was sure of it. There was just one more battle to win, a battle that had raged silent for years.

Once she stepped outside her room, that battle would begin again, but she let it wait, let herself feel nothing but the joined heartbeats of a sleepy embrace as she looked out through the blinds.

Pillars of smoke lined the sky. Peaceful plumes of light gray.

Minerva leaned her head back down again, kissed Palla’s temple. “Looks like it’s a good day for burning.”

Palla made an effort to angle her head and look through the window as well, then she drew a deep breath. “Should have realized… Smells like the mountains.”

It was common to burn leaves and garden waste at the start of summer, once enough gardening had been done to build impressive piles and once rain had secured the ground from the threat of wildfires. Now, with the sun greeting damp morning soil, every household in the entire Macedonan capital thought the perfect day had come.

Many took this chance to assemble with one’s neighbors around the fires. Exchanging small talk as one poked their sticks into or threw more leaves onto the pile was a part of the charm, according to many. Minerva’s wife included.

“Will you join me by the outer gardens?” Palla smiled. “I would love the chance to partake. I’m sure Catria could come, too. And then afterwards we could seamlessly go back up here to have a bit of a… private meal.”

The sunlight did not feel as warm as she said it. Reality, catching up to them, as it always did.

It would not be for long, Minerva told herself as she let Palla go. There was a future where these mornings could stretch on forever, their world safe from the threat that wandered between castle walls. That hope had grown from three months of silent agreement and strengthening alliances, and while brittle, it still shone its light on Minerva’s mind.

“A fine idea,” she said, offering her hand to help Palla throw her feet over the edge. “I will notify the guards to leave us alone. Shall we have Ida and Rivan know of our plans?”

“They may know, but I don’t think they should partake,” Palla said and slipped into what amounted to the least formal of all her tunics and jackets, earth-toned linen, lined with silver threads. “Catria’s right, we need to try to look less suspicious.”

Catria had changed from her time overseas—it was subtle, but with how well Minerva had known her before, it was easy to spot. She was prouder, _firmer_ somehow, and no time was that more obvious than the day after Minerva’s and Palla’s wedding when Catria had put a hand on Minerva’s shoulder and stared her right in the eyes with a voice that betrayed no hint of either teasing or subdued melancholy.

‘ _I am worried for you,’_ she had said. _‘Can we talk somewhere else?’_

That had been the first time the three of them had gathered in Minerva’s and Palla’s quarters, unguarded and with hushed voices. That was where the war against Rucke had begun in truth, where Minerva’s former simmering passive aggression was deemed no longer enough.

Outside these walls, Minerva did not show this resolution—she would continue to merely snap back at him, pretending to be unaware of her victories being nothing but short-lived moments. But in the silence of this room, Minerva planned a counter-offense alongside those she trusted.

Bringing Catria, Ida and Rivan to her quarters regularly would rouse suspicion, but they had a perfect cover—after all, was it so strange for Minerva to want to catch up on the year she had been apart from Catria, and was it so strange for a sister to want to invite her family over when there was time to spare? There was no need for guards, either, with the two of the most esteemed knights present—but if needs must, who was to say that a councillor of security and a First General wouldn’t make for good enough protection?

There were more than four people in Macedon that Minerva trusted enough, but the more she involved, the less safe they’d be. She needed tact and grace, limiting as it was.

Palla lifted the hair off her back, a gesture asking for Minerva to tie the lacings at her back, and Minerva silently did so, her fingers nimble by the many mornings of practice at the task. Meanwhile, Palla braided her hair—one long braid that had grown increasingly popular for young Macedonan pegasus knights to emulate.

The damp smell of burning leaves had expanded enough to reach through the windows, and Palla’s smile was genuine as she breathed deeply through her nose.

“Oh, hurry,” Palla teased and picked up the black and red jacket that was Minerva’s most common formal wear, held it open for Minerva to dive into its sleeves.

“The fires aren’t going anywhere,” Minerva chuckled in response, though she made sure to not dawdle. “Shall we make for the Academy, then?”

“After you, my dearest,” Palla said and leaned down to brush Minerva’s lips with her own, a flurry of movement before they needed to settle into the formal queen and queen’s wife.

They descended the steps together, the stairway that Minerva had cursed under her breath many times was now made at least somewhat more accessible with a proper railing, and with Palla holding her other hand, the descent was nearly painless. There was still plenty to adjust to make it easier for other injured veteran soldiers to move about the castle, but it was getting better. That would be one of the many things she would be able to put her mind to, once this silent war was over.

The smell of burning leaves was even more prominent on the ground floor, filled her every breath with the air of forest and earth; the cornerstones of Palla’s youth.

“The only time the air is the same all over Macedon,” Palla mused as they passed through the open gates, Minerva acknowledging the two patrols with a short nod. They nodded back, only slightly deeper.

It was exhausting to constantly read into such little gestures, but she could not afford to ignore potential threats. Asking herself which ones would fight for her, and which ones wouldn’t, and which would fight _against_ her. In a strange sense, she could understand Michalis’ analytical gaze and constant vigilance from a time long past.

 _Michalis_. She had yet to return to his cabin since Palla had returned. Going there alone was out of the question, she wanted Palla’s company, and there were other things she needed or wanted to do—be it the tasks of a royal or a leisurely flight or a tour of the capital.

There was enough on her mind without Michalis’ presence, but it would happen soon. Within a month, Maria would return to Macedon.

The thought churned in Minerva’s chest, and she clenched her teeth together. Maria had rushed to Macedon to attend the wedding, but been forced to leave almost the day after to finalize her official scholarship. Maria’s excited wave as she ran to catch up with her escort over the gravel path of the inner castle gardens had been followed by Catria’s solemn worry over Rucke only hours later, and Minerva had hated the relief she felt over Maria leaving after realizing what Catria’s words meant.

Her sister may not be avoiding Michalis’ presence, and that was her own choice—but she would be given a future free of the struggles Rucke wrought, all else be damned.

Palla pressed her hand against Minerva’s. “Is anything the matter?”

The path before them was full of people milling about or moving toward the Academy, some too busy to notice that the royal pair walked among them—even so, truly voicing her concerns would be too much of a risk.

“I do not want Maria to get involved in anything dangerous,” she answered, still with her jaws tight. “My thoughts wandered.”

Palla nodded, pretending not to understand exactly what Minerva meant. “She did not accept your offer to fly her from Triatun harbor, I know. She’s growing independent.”

Minerva smiled humorlessly, but there was a spark of pride brightening within her, if only for a moment. “I know I shouldn’t worry. She’ll be a fully-fledged _Mage Healer_ , should be able to take care of herself. I just miss her.”

“Me too, Minerva. But you’ll see her soon.”

With all the hidden messages in Palla’s tone, all the hopes that their political war would be over by the time Maria reached their shore, Minerva still felt like she was nothing but a big sister trying to find the best for her family.

What was best for Maria was a mystery to both of them, though. Maria was still growing, taking back years she had lost, and was trying to find what she wanted in life. The first months with Maria studying in Khadein, Minerva had dreaded Maria would never truly want to return. That maybe her roots never grew strongly enough in Macedon, that Maria would forget about her family and set her eyes all over the continent and beyond.

Now, that fear was gone. She felt quite at peace with them living their lives apart, as long as Minerva knew Maria was safe. Happy. Which she _couldn’t_ be sure of, not as long as Rucke pushed at her weaknesses.

They had reached the Academy yard. It annoyed Minerva that the thought of Rucke followed her everywhere, but that vigilance rewarded her—seeing the faces of a few familiar guardsmen, Minerva’s spirit dampened, knowing Rucke had had a similar destination this morning.

Minerva prodded Palla with her elbow, and Palla prodded back, telling her she’d noticed, too. They would not speak of it, not with heads turning their way and excited whispers following them.

Juniors and instructors alike watched them enter the Academy grounds. Palla greeted them fluently and Minerva saluted them, watching them eagerly return the gesture.

“I would like to find my sister,” Palla said, as though they hadn’t already guessed. That was usually the reason for their visits. They all nodded like it was the first time they heard it, however, and Palla turned to one of the younger instructors. “Petrica, correct? Would you take me to her?”

Minerva arched a brow. _Me_ , not _us_. Separating would give them twice the chance to run into Rucke and try to catch wind of his actions, but it was also a gamble, putting their trust in the people of the Academy.

On the other hand, Minerva was surrounded by weapons. She may not have Hauteclere intimidating onlookers, but if anyone wanted to harm her or Palla, this place would be a terrible choice.

Palla gave her a wordless gaze, and Minerva nodded her approval. They would take this opportunity to explore Rucke’s plots best they could. Minerva rested her back to the wall and watched Palla go, a few juniors still loitering unsurely in her proximity.

Minerva let her gaze wander across the yard, seeing no clear sign of anyone of interest, so instead she smiled at one of the juniors sporting an unusual weapon.

“A mace,” Minerva nodded at the junior, who clutched their weapon somewhat self-consciously.

“Yes, your majesty,” the junior affirmed uncertainly. “I know it is not conventional, I was given the opportunity to train with it, by Instructor Patrica, and Head Instructor Catria said it was fine, too—”

“Good idea,” Minerva continued, interrupting the junior’s need to defend themselves. “I began my knight’s training with a mace as well. It is a fine weapon, if it suits you.”

The junior’s eyes widened a little. “I didn’t know, your majesty. Was it… ever useful?”

“It made me strong,” Minerva answered. “And I got to use one, once. Our storming of Altea castle—I was disarmed, found a mace, and knew what to do. Dislocated my shoulder, I believe, but I still stand, and my enemy does not.”

She was met by a silence full of reverence, tried not to shift uncomfortably beneath it. Sometimes her role as inspiration was a strange concept for her grasp. She watched the other juniors present glance at the mace with a newfound sort of awe, before she let her eyes back out over the yard.

Her lips twitched, meeting Rucke’s gaze across the gaping empty space of sand and training clutter. He was adorned by full-body armor, gleaming and polished, and was on his way toward her—or toward the exit. She made sure to look away, feigning disinterest, her attention returned to the juniors.

“Would you perhaps show me how you wield that mace of yours?” Minerva asked. “I am curious to know if I can learn from you.”

That was all the prompting the small group of juniors needed, and they rushed out toward the training area, leaving her alone and approachable.

Rucke would take the bait, she was sure. He would pass her by on his way out, and it would be beneath his pride to simply ignore Minerva if she reached out to him. So she did.

“Hello, Lord Rucke,” Minerva greeted him, with as an indifferent tone as she could muster. “You seem a bit overdressed for a casual stroll. What is your occasion?”

Rucke’s armored boots clanged against the stone of the path to the exit, and he laughed quietly. “I may be a lord, but I have to look the part of a great general when I visit the Academy, Your Majesty.”

Minerva glanced back to the hard-working juniors, but she didn’t really see them. Her mind was set on Rucke, her shoulders tense. She had not been alone with him for almost three months, and she had forgotten just how much her skin crawled.

She had gained the luxury of others around her catching on, mimicking her slow corrosion against Rucke. Knowing Ida and Rivan were on her side in this helped her more than she could ever pay them back for. The scribe present at their larger gatherings had taken to unofficially describing every little change in Rucke’s face and gestures—which was not usually part of the routine—on Rivan’s request. Councillor Ida, always keen to appear the most physically capable despite her age, tended to place herself between Minerva and Rucke as much as she could get away with. Those were small actions in the grand scheme, but they mattered, and without them, Minerva felt strangely bare.

She was not new to the prospect, though. A full year she had carried on like this, and she would act now with all the presence and dignity a queen was expected to have, though it frustrated her to try so hard to no end. Rucke was skilled at his schemes, but she knew he schemed nonetheless, and she knew from the past experiences of his attempts at undermining her that it would no doubt harm what she had tried to build. The question was just exactly _what_ he schemed, and how to stop it.

“You spend an awful lot of early mornings and late evenings at the Academy lately,” Minerva remarked. “Hard at work with inspiring troops?”

“You could say, Your Majesty,” Rucke laughed again. “The young ones are heartwarmingly eager to see me; I don’t have the heart to say no. I do not intend to let my other work slip, of course.”

His comfortable tone caused her to refrain from replying, and he took it as a hint to keep talking, as per usual. He switched topics in stride, always pleased to be the one to steer the conversation.

“Speaking of—I saw your wife. She had stopped by one of the burning piles.”

He said it with a smile, but Minerva didn’t look closely enough to tell if it was real—she already knew it was not. The clang of training steel against training steel echoed over the yard, reminding Minerva that she wasn’t as alone as she felt—a small comfort.

“It’s fascinating to see you two _not_ joined by the hip, and for such a frivolous reason as to watch leaves burn. Your wife would rather stand out in the cold than to see to her duties?”

Minerva’s lip twitched with the jab, which she did not try to conceal. Instead, she looked right at him.

“That’s _Queen Wife of Macedon_ to you, Rucke.”

She let him believe he’d made her uncomfortable, and in return, she read his response.

“Of course,” Rucke said, a bit too quickly—he was still cautious of her, then. “I meant no offense. The Queen Wife does a fine job, clear as day! The people love her. I’m sure whatever direction she goes, they will follow. It’s an admirable quality. I value it highly.”

Minerva nodded as though nothing was amiss, kept up with the dance that had gone on for years—kept her step, kept her face, kept her gaze; but her mind slowed down nonetheless. A great liar only partly concealed the truth, and Rucke was a great liar, of that there was no doubt. The way he walked with such confidence, the way he spoke with such flippancy... His final words took root within her, and didn’t let go.

Warning bells had always tolled in his presence, but they rang stronger for each day. His absences, his escalating boldness, and now, his tone and choice of words. It was a shrouded challenge, but a challenge nonetheless. She wanted to push him further, but that might reveal too much of her intention. She needed to make it seamless.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “Is there anything you want to say, Rucke? I am free to listen, as you can see.”

“A kind offer,” Rucke said with a calculated bow of his head. “However, I shall not waste your valuable time, Your Majesty. It is better spent… elsewhere, I’m sure.”

Minerva did not answer, and he did not wait for her dismissal. He walked on, back straight, left her with her chest boiling.

They were running out of time. Danger was lurking and growing right in front of her, beneath her own roof. She had felt that once before with Michalis, and she’d excused it, ignored it, and lived to regret it for the rest of her life. She would not do the same mistake again.

The dance had ended long ago. She did not doubt the curtain would fall soon—she needed to strike a killing blow fast, or die trying.

\---

“Okay,” Catria exhaled, the Valentian phrase still ringing somewhat unfamiliar to Minerva’s ears, although she was getting used to it. “Okay, so one of my kids said that she got forged documents on the weapon supply the other day. She doesn’t know who changed them, but she is absolutely sure that they’re incorrect—it’s Elena, by the way.”

Minerva and Palla nodded almost in unison, plates resting on their laps. Catria had mentioned her student Elena many times with great pride; her near-spotless object memory and her knack for formation flying. If Elena swore something wasn’t adding up to her memory, it was good enough for Catria, and that made it good enough to Minerva as well.

“You’re trying to trace it, right?” Palla’s voice was subdued, as it always was during these secret meetings.

Catria massaged her temples, her half-full plate nearly tipping out of her lap. “I mean, yeah, of course, but you know how I said many of the other instructors have voiced concerns to me about their students acting… differently? Yeah, I’ve noticed that too. Not one of _my_ kids, mind you, but there are these blotches of actions that don’t add up to what it was like when I was there _before_ Valentia. Weird looks, whispers, refusal to carry out simple training missions… Maybe I’m just getting old and thinking the kids are snooty and disrespectful—but I’m not gonna ignore it either way.”

Minerva crossed her arms. “They’re covering their tracks, is what I assume you want to say.”

Catria hid her face briefly in her hands. She seemed more agitated than usual. “Yeah. Yep. It’s frustrating.”

“Any closer to knowing exactly what Rucke’s saying to them when he’s down at the Academy?” Palla asked.

“Nothing tangible, much less incriminating. All I’m met by are body-guards and silence when I try—and I’m _head instructor_ , damnit. The other instructors are as chanceless as me. Or they might be in on Rucke’s plans and pretending not to be. Ugh, I wish I could just… accidentally fling a javelin in his direction, or something.”

Minerva pressed her lips together. This topic slipped back into their conversations more often than not—even Ida, who Minerva never would have expected to count among her allies a year ago, had grunted something about wrenching a dagger through Rucke’s spleen. An idea that never failed to make the hair prickle at the back of her neck.

“You know we cannot,” Minerva sighed. “It tempts me as much as it does you, but it would solve nothing.”

Palla’s gaze had grown darker, her eyes flickering toward the window where the midday sun was shining as innocently as ever.

“I wish to discuss it,” she said, her voice blunt. “You said it yourself when we began this meeting, Minerva—time is growing short, and we do not even know what to expect. If… if we run out of options, you can count on me. Us being wed does not change the fact that I would carry out any mission for you. A sword through his throat as he sleeps, and it will be done.”

“Palla,” Minerva said, a chill in her voice. “I will not give that order, not to you, not to anyone. I have not killed in nearly four years.”

“That’s why I offer myself.” Palla’s gaze didn’t falter. “The blood on my hands is still fresh, and I would stain them again.”

Michalis would suggest the same, Minerva knew. A quiet slip, an _accidental_ poison, a dagger between the ribs...and then they’d lie about it. Like Michalis had done, with their father.

She felt ill. That wasn’t her way. Never. She hated disagreeing with Palla on such important matters, but far were they from perfectly agreeable.

“All that would do is fuel the flames,” Minerva said, her eyes fixed to the ceiling. “The truth would get out, and when it does, what’s to say I wouldn’t undo everything we’ve fought for? The people would look to me and see my brother.”

Palla put her head in her palm, her forelocks casting her face in shadow. This was far from the first time, but the argument was always on the fringes of their minds, taunting and tempting them.

“You’ve already established who you are, Minerva.” Palla’s eyes did not soften as she spoke. “Your image is your greatest power—and it is what Rucke will try to sully once you stop being useful to him. I wish only to _discuss_ this.”

“I’m sorry,” Minerva said and shook her head. “I cannot stray from my path when it suits me. I make sure common bandits get fair trials; what hypocrite would I be not to give Rucke the same chance?”

“He’d bend everything to his favor,” Palla retorted. “He always does.”

“Which is why we need _evidence_ ,” Catria grunted and leaned forwards with a slap on her knees, her restlessness evident in her voice. “Gods, your circular arguments are what’s wastin’ our time, nothing else!”

Minerva arched a brow at her, leaned back. Catria was unfazed, shoving a piece of bread into her mouth.

“Listen,” Catria continued with a sigh full of bread. “I’m a bit nervous, okay—Clair said she was thinking about coming to _visit_ soon, and I can’t have the potential of a darned _coup_ getting in the way of that!”

Palla shook her head, but despite everything, Minerva felt a smile tug at the edge of her lips.

“That changes everything,” Minerva chuckled. “I promised I’d make a good impression on the lady Clair.”

“This is no joking matter,” Palla said, her back against the wall and her solemn gaze set on Minerva. “Catria, please tell Clair to wait until we’ve sorted this all out.”

“How?” Catria put her plate down beside her. “Clair wouldn’t back out of killing divine dragons, and she wouldn’t back out of _this_ either, if I told her. If I could allow myself to discuss the state of Macedon’s secret royal affairs through unsecure letters, I already would’ve asked her to help figure this out—but I can’t do that without risking word getting out!” She dragged her hands through her hair, shaking her head again. “Gods know we might even _need_ some new eyes to fix this mess. I feel so useless, trying to sneak around the Academy. Everyone recognizes me, and it’s the same for you!”

Minerva rested her head against the armchair behind her. As was tradition with these secret meetings of theirs, they sat on the floor. They could huddle closer that way, speak in lower voices.

 _Coup_. That word was thrown around more regularly now—their first secret meeting, they’d discussed what exactly Rucke’s plans could be, but as time had passed, that had been less important. It was no secret that he wanted power, and it was simpler to assume that a coup would be his end-goal.

The issue now was how to quietly stomp out the embers around Rucke without sparking a fire of controversy. Which was, as Catria had so eloquently said, difficult when they were always recognized.

“If Rucke is nearing any attempts to overthrow me, it is no little affair,” Minerva said. “He may hide everything he does well, but there’s no way he could keep all information required for such matters in his head. And whatever he uses to keep track is the evidence we need. He holds it too hidden for us to find it, but… There isn’t a pair of eyes in Macedon that wouldn’t recognize us. We need someone unassuming. In a game of shadows, I need someone who’s at home shrouded by them.”

She stared into the ceiling, then felt a humorless smile take place on her face. _New eyes_ , Catria had said. Although she disliked the idea of putting someone in harm's way, there were no other options. This might be the killing blow she had sought to find.

“We haven’t visited Lena’s priory in a long time,” she said. “Julian’s still with her, too?”

Palla’s shoulders relaxed, answering with a small smile of her own. “They’re nigh inseparable. Leave it to Lena to steal the heart of a thief.”

“Last he told me he’d quit the whole thieving-thing,” Catria said, her eyes with a sudden spark. “I mean, not that we were _chummy_ with him or anything, but it might be a good idea to, you know, check on him—changing careers is a tough business.”

Minerva saw the same thought reflected on both their faces, there was no question of what they should do next—the question was how to reach out. Lena’s priory was set out in the southeast, just where the flatlands turned into the mountain range that split Macedon in half. She could leave for a day’s flight with the simple excuse to visit an old friend, but it would be too sudden, too suspicious.

If they were to have any chance of catching Rucke slipping, he needed to think her clueless. She needed a cover, and she needed someone keeping an eye on Rucke so that he wouldn’t act in her absence. She _could_ send Palla or Catria over to the priory alone, but she couldn’t bear with the thought. Direct involvement, looking Julian in the eye, measuring how much she could trust him—she couldn’t go through with anything unless she had her own gut reassured.

She tried to think of what plans Maria would have made. She was no expert on intrigue either, but her mind was great at finding paths others wouldn’t think of; Minerva was, for all her attempts not to, still stuck in the gears of a military leader. What angle, what time of day, what weather—though maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.

“Summer’s just begun,” she stated into the thoughtful silence, and she felt Palla’s eyes fall on her. “That might mean droughts are ahead. Priories and orphanages are the most vulnerable when there’s food shortage—so it would not be out of place for a queen to decree for some grain to be distributed to every priory around Macedon.”

Palla smiled at her, an eager hand grasping Minerva’s. “Indeed! It would be just like you to do so, Minerva. Perhaps I can lead that aerial delivery without suspicion.”

“I’d like to go as well,” Minerva said. “If only just for the first few priories—I want to see Lena and Julian with my own eyes.”

Speaking it out loud, she realized it wasn’t the best idea to leave the castle at a time like this, but she would see no other option. To her surprise, Palla didn’t object, and Catria merely grinned.

“Leave it to me to keep the castle standing,” Catria said. “We’ll get everyone else up to speed—maybe we could even get a scholar or two up to the capital to keep everything really slow and boring. And in a few days, you’ll come back, and Julian’ll give that rat what-for. Heck, I might not have to cancel with Clair, after all, huh?”


	3. Priory

Preparations were slow, as was the case for most official royal businesses. Councillor Ida was quick to draw plans for how to change the route of patrols to not be predictable, just in case something were to happen when Minerva left. Catria, after much back-and-forth on the matter, suggested the Academy close down for a few days of free time, so that she could focus more on keeping the peace while she also got a better idea of what the students were like when they relaxed.

Rivan had entire plans cut out for how the current queensguard would keep an eye on the capital and keep Rucke away from any official documentation—with the help of Gimonsplit’s Scholars. Ylina of the former Queen’s Guard came with half a dozen people and a baby on her arm, shining like a small sun.

“It’s _great_ that you’re doing all this for the orphanages, Your Majesties,” Ylina said after they’d exchanged short greetings. “And congratulations again on the wedding and all—we’ve caught up in chronicling the last few years of war, and everyone is so eager to get to immortalize that event, it’s almost vicious how much we argue over every little detail—it has to be perfect!”

Palla hid her smile behind her hand, but it was clear as day to Minerva, in the way her body moved. Minerva’s chest warmed.

“I hope it’s fine that I brought my family, by the way—this is Ella!” Ylina smiled and lifted her baby over to Rivan’s arms. “Isn’t she great, Riv? I took her in from Derne’s place. Her parents got tragically unlucky out at sea, so I’m picking up where they left off. So… yeah! I’m a mom, can you believe it?”

Rivan had held the small child with tearful reverence, barely listening. “She looks clever,” he said, sliding a tiny piece of parchment into the baby’s hand, watching her grasp it tightly.

“Of course she does, she’s _my_ daughter,” Ylina laughed and took the baby into her arms—and without skipping a beat, she gently uncoiled the parchment from the tiny fist and put it into her chest-pocket, as though nothing had happened. Her face had changed slightly, however. She’d caught on that there was more to the tour of the priories than benevolence.

Perhaps it was to keep the charade going for any potential onlookers, but Ylina held the baby out to Minerva. Reasons didn’t matter, though; Minerva took Ella in her arms, and the world disappeared.

There was a simplicity to it that she had not felt in years. A tiny bundle, moving, breathing. A bundle that didn’t know that the world had burned, that knew nothing of the cruelty of humans and dragons, oblivious to the constant threat that could end everything in the beat of a breath.

And it was so, so vulnerable. Ella made a small sound; it tugged at Minerva’s chest, prickled at her eyes.

She fought to defend Macedon, fought so that families like these could thrive, no matter their resources. She would have liked to say that holding the child steeled her resolve, but she rather felt like she was made of soft feathers. The way Maria never failed to make her feel.

She would not let Rucke win. She would be done with this blasted silent war, and the sooner, the better.

They left under a public guise, as planned. The word Minerva wanted to be spread was that of a simple public campaign, one where she would elevate the names of the noble houses making their donations.

Most nobles were excited by the idea and approved her absence with wide smiles—and Rucke’s smile the widest of them all.

 _What a soft ruler you are_ , he seemed to say.

Minerva wanted to knock him on the jaw, but pretended not to understand. Hoped this journey wouldn’t be another one of her mistakes.

“Hey,” Catria had whispered to her as she embraced Palla. “I’ve got your backs.”

Palla closed her eyes, hugging her sister tightly. “I know you do.”

Minerva would be gone for less than a week, or so she hoped. Even airborne, visiting every priory was an ambitious goal. Half a day had passed before they’d left the capital, and every other village and large town had a place for them to stop—Palla had counted their stops to be no less than twenty-five, which was a large enough number for Minerva to grow exhausted by the thought.

Hera was enjoying herself, though—the wyvern stretched her neck proudly as she formed the front of the mass of cargo fliers, six wyverns attached through ropes for each of the twenty-five giant crates. Hera was smaller than most of them, but she clearly thought herself their better. For such a self-important wyvern, it was lucky that she carried the queen—and luckier yet for Minerva that the only ones Hera accepted to have beside her without pointed glares and snapping jaws was Palla and her Avil.

Well outside the capital, two-day’s worth of cargo left by nine priories, Minerva’s mind had nearly let go of Rucke entirely. The present drew her constant attention, the wind in her face and Palla’s graceful figure beside her. When they sailed down to the ground by a priory, they were met by smiles and excitement. Children gasped and pointed as the entire entourage sank carefully with a constant signing between the riders in their synchronized descent, and more often than not, once Minerva and Palla dismounted to meet and speak with the head of the priory, wide-eyed children watched Palla like she was a goddess with the silver circlet gleaming over her braided head, and they gaped at Minerva like she was the spitting image of Iote.

She could not let herself forget the true purpose behind her visits, but it was easy to smile, easy to hold Palla’s hand in hers and tell the hard-working clerics that their efforts were seen and appreciated, and easy to lend an ear to their concerns, like that was all she’d meant to do.

On the third day, the entourage landed by Lena’s priory.

Sixteen children rushed to meet them, like a chaotic swarm of crows. The younger children milled about the wyverns fearlessly while the older ones tried to keep them from climbing or touching things they shouldn’t. Five of the kids were immediately crowding the knights who carried the heaviest crate.

Minerva dismounted Hera, who seemed mildly disinterested in the children, but snorted suspiciously at the flame-haired cleric leaning on the wooden fence. A threat that went completely ignored by the cleric in question. Lena had never been one to show fear.

“Children,” Lena called from the fence. “Don’t run too far—Iado, Gunnil, let the man pass, please! And come say hello to the majesties!”

The swarm obeyed her call, and Minerva found herself surrounded by differently colored hand-knitted caps, with a few polite shouts of ‘ _hi!_ ’ and _‘hello majesty!’_ , and one of the braver children who could not have been more than ten years old crossed their arms with a face that shone of innocence.

“Julian says he saw you eat a rock, once.”

Minerva felt her brow shoot up. “Did he, now?”

Palla made a sound as though holding back laughter, and the cleric by the fence made no effort to hold back hers. “Oh, Effie—! Don’t mind her, your majesty. Hello, and welcome—all of you. We heard you were making rounds to all the priories. What a lovely idea.”

“A fine excuse for visiting an old friend,” Minerva smiled, and Lena smiled back.

“I hope you aren’t in a hurry—I’m sure Julian would like the chance to see you two again,” Lena said, then turned around toward the house and raised her voice to a shout. “Julian dear, the Royal Couple is here!”

Julian’s peeped out from the open window, holding a ladle that dripped an unidentifiable dark liquid down on the shrubbery.

“The stew’s boiling over!” he cried in response, before he met Minerva’s gaze and gave her something that could pass for a wave. “Hi! Bye! Gotta go, it’s a crisis!”

In the next moment, Julian had darted back inside, ladle high and ready.

“I apologize if we arrive at an inopportune time,” Palla said to Lena, smile evident on her face.

Lena merely chuckled and leaned over the fence, her eyes on the eager children. The entourage had dismounted and those who did not need to carry any of the crates clustered together in comfortable conversation, and Minerva relaxed as well.

“We always accept guests,” Lena said. “It’s part of running a priory, your majesty. But even if I didn’t, you would always be welcome. It’s nice that you’d come to visit an old lady like me.”

“Old lady?” Minerva laughed. “You’re barely three years my senior, Lena.”

Lena shrugged. “My joints say otherwise.”

The knights with the heavy crate stopped by Lena, their faces red from the effort.

“Ma’am,” one of them gasped. “Where’s your pantry?”

Lena beamed at him and gestured toward the back of the priory. “Oh, just round the corner, dear. Tio, how about you show these nice men the pantry?”

A seven-year-old boy jumped the fence and yelled ‘ _yeah!_ ’ before he bolted toward the back, the knights having to jog to keep up.

Lena turned to Minerva again, giving Palla a soft nod. “Thank you kindly, your majesties. Let’s hope the weather gods don’t put us through a drought, but if they do, your gift will no doubt spare the children some empty bellies.”

“Speaking of empty bellies,” Palla smiled, “I believe it is about time for our entourage to rest for a while before we move on.”

The fact that they were all tired and longing for sitting down in the shade with their midday rations had been carefully planned by Palla from the start of the journey, but there was no need to mention that.

“I agree,” Minerva said. “Lena, that stew Julian’s cooking smells… great. Would it be acceptable for us to share a meal with our old friends, now that we finally meet again? There are plenty of memories to relive and stories to share, if it would fit your schedule.”

“That would be lovely,” Lena answered and pushed away from the fence. “If there’s room within our hearts, there’s room around our table. Come in.”

Minerva had to duck to get inside, which wasn’t that common a problem in Macedon, but this priory was of the tinier sort. And somehow, it could fit sixteen children and seven adults.

The fireplace in the far end of the room was subdued under metal covers, smoke seeping through the cracks and spreading a smell both foreboding and homely, and more smoke leaked as Julian tipped the cauldron on its side to reach and stir the bottom with his ladle.

He was clearly not entirely pleased with having royal guests at this particular meal, as he hesitantly put plates on the table.

“It’s not a very fancy meal, y’majesties,” he said and cleared his throat. “The beets made it weird-colored—I don’t know how it happened, really, I don’t.“

“Please,” Minerva said with as gentle a voice she could. “Do not think of us as any special occasion—and besides, if this tastes better than what we made for ourselves the final days of marching in Khadein, I will consider it a delicacy.”

“Not a high bar,” Julian frowned, then softened into a nod. “But sure, we’ll hope for the best. Cooking wasn’t a priority to learn when I was a boy, but Lena’s been teaching me fine.”

The children around the table didn’t pay much attention, they were busy wolfing down their bowls. Julian had turned his back to them with the final bowl, and Minerva watched him carefully fish out the finest bits of meat and carrots, before he put it down before Lena with a smile that shone with anticipation and pride.

In most other meals with royalty present, there’d be an expectation to wait for everyone to be served, but with the children already finishing their first portions, that etiquette seemed meaningless. Palla had eaten a few spoonfuls already, a smile on her face.

“Julian, this is very good! The strange color aside, it’s a delight!”

Julian brightened further, his cheeks growing red as Lena nodded in agreement. “Thank you, majesty Palla! There’s enough for seconds!”

“And thirds?” one of the children yelled from across the table, his bowl empty. Julian pretended to think for a second.

“Hmmm”, he said. “That would cost you! Say… a gold coin! Do you have one?”

The eye of every child turned to him, and the boy opposite him grinned wide.

“Yeah! Behind my ear!”

Julian’s brows shot up in feigned surprise. “Oh, really? Well, lemme check, hey?”

He leaned over the table and reached for the boy’s head. In one nimble arc of his fingers, Minerva could spot the gleam of gold for a moment, before a coin materialised in his hand.

Julian held the coin up into the light, covering his mouth with a dramatic gasp. “Oh! Lookit! You told the truth!”

Excited voices merged with laughter and chants of ‘ _Magic trick! Magic trick!_ ’ from the youngest ones, while the teens merely shook their heads, feigning they weren’t amused.

Lena had rested her spoon on her plate, her head in her hand, her eyes not moving from Julian’s theatrics. By the look of her smile, it wasn’t his nimble tricks that transfixed her.

Minerva exchanged a look with Palla, guilt surging at the center of her chest. She had never known Julian that well—he’d spent most of the League’s marches keeping his distance from her, like most. Asking him to use skills that were best buried would be sudden, and she could not expect him to agree due to any deeply founded ideas of friendship.

To give it as an order would likely not help, either. She did not think thieves had much respect for such authority, friendly or otherwise. She was queen and he lived between her borders, but she doubted he saw himself as a Macedonan. She realized she had no idea where Julian had been born, or if he even knew of his origins himself.

And she’d have him risk his life for her. It seemed…wrong. If he said no, if he slipped away and left her to attempt breaching Rucke’s impossible walls on her own, she could not blame him.

The meal seemed to drag on, her focus constantly pulled in Julian’s direction, her doubts and guilt battling within her even as she smiled and shared stories with the children. That she was a queen didn’t seem to matter to them, just that she knew Lena and Julian, and they asked her the strangest things without caring much about the answer—like if all nobles in Aurelio-Archanea knew how to play the harp. Then they asked Palla if getting married was better than an apple tart, and on that note, one of the teenagers gave a pointed look toward Julian.

Around that time, the meal was drawing to a close, much due to Julian spluttering something incomprehensible about needing to get the dishes done. Minerva got to standing.

“Let me assist you,” she said, and when Julian opened his mouth to protest, Minerva steeled her gaze into his. “Please.”

Palla got up as well, a warm smile on her face. “A fine idea! Then perhaps I may show the children our pegasi and wyverns. How many of you have taken to the sky before?”

All children except two raised their hands proudly. This was Macedon, after all.

Palla beckoned them to follow, opening the door. “I will be back,” she said to Lena. “I hope this is fine—I promise I will make sure no one gets hurt!”

Lena, her eyes like a gentle flame and a knowing smile on her face, merely nodded. Minerva let her eyes linger with her for a moment, judging if there was more behind that dreaming gaze of hers. Lena saw more than she let on, Minerva already knew so—and seeing her get to her feet and immediately walk up to firmly close the window-covers was proof enough that she understood something was stirring beneath the surface of their visit.

Julian had begun heating the water for washing, squinting hesitantly at Lena. “We usually keep the windows open to get rid of the smoke, don’t we?”

“Not today,” Lena smiled at him. “Julian, let that water rest for a moment.”

“Uh, I mean… sure?” Julian wiped his hands on the sides of his shirt while Lena softly closed the door and angled her head to meet Minerva’s gaze.

“What did you want, your majesty?”

The kitchen was shrouded in darkness, the flickering fire behind the uneven metal covers of the stove the only light in the room. Minerva was too stunned to answer. She had been ready to whisper a few words in passing or slide a piece of parchment over the table, but Lena was giving her the space to talk freely, if only for a few moments.

As if she’d read Minerva’s surprise, Lena smiled and shook her head. “You’re quite similar to your brother, your majesty. He knew how to hide his thoughts, but I spent years learning to read him—and you have the same tell. So, you’re nervous, _and_ you keep looking at us; I think you want something but cannot ask for it openly. Am I wrong?”

Minerva could only shake her head. The darkness around them was strangely comforting, and she dared herself to feel hope.

“I do have something I wish to say,” she whispered, before setting her gaze onto Julian again. “The stability of Macedon is under threat, and while I have battled against it with the resources I know for a long time, I’ve realized I cannot win. Not without… a thief.”

Julian had shifted uncomfortably on his feet and glanced over at the dishes, but with that final word, he got perfectly still. He stared at her, the jittery movements of his fingers and his darting gaze both gone—like a different person stood before her.

“Now, I know this is much to ask,” Minerva continued. “I cannot demand that you leave your home and honest work—"

“Hold that thought,” Julian interrupted her, his eyes glittering in the dull firelight. “There’s no needin’ to apologize ahead of time, y’majesty. You need thieving, and thought to give me the chance?” He stretched his neck, rolled his shoulders. “I wouldn’t miss it!”

Lena bit her lip, but didn’t speak.

“I hate to ask such a favor of you,” Minerva protested, unsure what to do with such a quick affirmation. “The man I want you to keep an eye on is guarded and of powerful standing—if you got caught, there would be nothing I could do to lessen your punishment, and I cannot bear the thought—”

“Yeah-yeah,” Julian interrupted her again, a small smile on his face. “No need to recite what every thief already knows, hey? It’s a dangerous business, and I’m happy to be out, but I’ll do it.”

He pointed his thumb in the general direction of the door leading outside, where the children were no doubt milling about and following Palla’s lead.

“I have as much interest as you in keeping the peace,” Julian continued, and brushed the back of his knuckles shyly against Lena’s upper arm. “Besides, I can’t drag my legs while Lena works so hard, can I?”

Lena clicked her tongue and moved her hand over the back of his neck, giving him half an embrace.

“You brave fool,” she said. “You have not dragged your legs once in your life.”

Julian leaned into her arm, face flushed but with a slight grin on his face.

“Let’s face it,” he said to her. “I’m not great at making stews. And I know I promised no more thievin’, but... Is this once all right with ya?”

Lena closed her eyes and nodded slowly. “You brave fool,” she repeated. “Of course this is all right.”

She opened her eyes and looked at Minerva; that clever, calculating gaze watching her in silence for a few heartbeats. “Where will he find the necessary information?”

Minerva fished out the piece of parchment she had prepared before leaving, with short words explaining the target and the situation, and quickly handed it over to Julian’s outstretched hand.

“So you people will keep touring the country for priories?” Julian asked, as if making casual conversation, and he smiled wider. “Maybe I’ll go for a… tour of my own, in the meantime. Don’t expect to _see_ me around, y’majesty—but I’ll be there, trust me.”

Minerva smiled weakly back. “Please make it out alive.”

“No need to worry,” Julian laughed as he flung the gold coin into the air and caught it between two fingers, still grinning. “I lived through the war with these skills, you bet that I’ve still have them polished and sharp.”


	4. Final Pieces

The air was different when Minerva returned to the castle. The red walls seemed brighter, the voices she overheard shriller, though perhaps it was of her own making. Her attention drew toward the shadows, searching in vain for a familiar face. She knew the likelihood that she’d spot Julian was small, but she’d have liked a short confirmation that her journey hadn’t been for nothing.

She should have asked for him to make an agreed-upon sign, like aligning leaves on a windowsill, but it was too late to change those plans. Julian would approach her when he’d found something, and no sooner. Minerva’s role would be to keep pretending, though that was growing harder by the moment.

She’d tasted freedom during her days visiting the priory, and the sensation refused to let go of her. Her feet were heavy, unwilling to return to the shroud of her home, and at the same time, intensely hoping that nothing had gone terribly awry in her absence.

Palla held her hand in a tense grip. Ignoring the onlookers around the stable, they walked wordlessly toward the great gates. Nothing looked to be amiss, yet neither of them spoke, and they did not let go of one another. They held on even when they met Catria at the edge of the inner courtyard, standing with a tight-lipped Ida beside her.

They exchanged nothing but formal pleasantries, but there was obvious relief on Catria’s face as she walked with them through the hallways, toward the throne room, Minerva noticed. Ida didn’t seem interested in their conversation at all, looking to all observers like nothing but a high-ranking guard escorting them, although Minerva noticed how her fists were clenched.

Minerva could only guess what sort of silent battles they would have had to fight in her absence.

“It’s a good thing if you two sit on the throne for a while, majesties,” Ida said, gesturing the guards flanking the barred southern door to the throne room. They got to work unlocking and prying the door open, a feat that took longer than expected.

“Sends a good message,” Catria mumbled under her breath. “Gods know we need it.”

Palla gave a nod and squeezed Minerva’s hand, before finally letting go when the doors swung open.

The throne glistened from the light being let in, the wood polished smooth. Rebuilt a decade ago, yet it still managed to look new. Minerva had only vague memories of what it had looked like before she’d buried her axe into it, a long time in the past, but she couldn’t imagine she would have liked that throne much better. Bringing another elaborate chair beneath the throne canopy for the Queen Wife was an improvement, though Minerva much preferred the simplicity of the council chamber above this.

Many of the people who did not live and work at the castle seemed convinced that Minerva never left the throne, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The chair was cold and hard and uncomfortable, only made to make her _look_ important. Thus, closing the throne room completely while Minerva was away had been an important statement—and a better statement yet for her return.

Minerva took her place on the smooth wood, Palla sliding onto the chair beside her. Both Catria and Ida visibly relaxed. Minerva reminded herself to be grateful, her power still remained, her castle still stood, and she shouldn’t shift uncomfortably or drum her fingers on the armrest. They wouldn’t be here long. A statement, that was all.

The guards by the southern entrance had gotten to work with unlocking the other two doors leading into the room, presenting the sight of Minerva and Palla in their place for the passing servants. Word would spread quickly.

Palla took the opportunity to wave in acknowledgement to those who peeked inside to see them, the smile on her face both gentle and confident. They may be sitting beneath the iron bars supporting the deep red velvet canopy in their riding gear, Palla with a simple braid and Minerva’s hair ruffled by hard winds, but this was where they belonged.

The babble of a baby echoed through one of the eastern hallways, and Minerva turned her head as Rivan walked briskly inside, the little Ella in his arms. Ylina followed right behind, hands in her waist pockets.

“Good,” Ida said with her chin high. “You weren’t held back, I see.”

Catria’s fingers drummed restlessly against her arms. Yet again, Minerva got the strong sense that too much was happening outside of her control—and not being able to ask any of them outright was the most frustrating part.

“Happy to see you returned safely, your majesties,” Rivan said and adjusted his hold on the baby. “Was the journey fruitful?”

“Yes, as I’m sure all twenty-five priories would agree,” Palla smiled at him, though Minerva noticed how it did not reach her eyes. Of course it wouldn’t, not here.

“Ylina,” Minerva nodded at the woman behind Rivan. “Extend our gratitude to your fellow scholars. It was very kind of you to assist in the necessary documentation while we were gone. If I may, was your time here…eventful in any way?”

She would not be given an honest answer, not with the numerous guards and workers crossing back and forth in the hallways outside, but Minerva couldn’t hold the question back. The tightness of Catria’s jaw, Ida’s narrow eyes—if there was a lingering catastrophe, Minerva wanted a warning.

Ylina clicked her tongue, nearing the throne. “I wouldn’t say, your majesty.”

It was the best answer she could give, Minerva assumed, and all things considered, happy news.

“Although I should point out that there has been word of your sister while you were away,” Ylina continued. “Princess Maria’s ship from Khadein had stopped in Grust’s harbor a week ago—so they’re very likely arriving in Triatun within a few days.”

“Patrols are ready to assure her safety,” Ida added, seemingly bored over the matter, but her eyes glistened, ready for the worst.

Minerva fought the urge to grimace. She wouldn’t be able to resolve the mess they were in before Maria arrived, as she’d hoped, and now she needed to think of how to involve her. Keeping her in the dark while she was in the middle of it was not an option, but Minerva would have preferred to not burden her.

“I’m happy to hear it,” Minerva said, repeating Maria’s latest letter in her mind. “She will make the journey here as previously agreed, and I will not leave the capital again.”

Maria had been clear on that end. _I appreciate your offer,_ she’d written, _but I want to journey through Macedon on my own two feet—there’s so much left to see! I would like to stop by Lena’s, too!_

Maria’s advance toward her home would be slow, and with all other stressors, the thought did not sit entirely right with Minerva. Anything could happen to her on the road, especially if Rucke got it in his head to try something—but on the other hand, she knew Maria could handle herself.

During her stops to the priories, Minerva had heard a lot of stories about her sister. Some that surprised her, some that didn’t. Clerics apparently shared tales of Maria’s great courage, they spoke of how the third child of Osmond rode alone to the forefront of a dragon army with nothing but the staff on her back, and determining the entire battle—or they told stories of a polite princess going on a clever offensive against the Dolunan siege of Archanea’s palace. Scattered between those stories were ones of compassion and healing without hesitation, and statements that _of course_ all clerics could be that magnificent; Maria was living proof.

Minerva wasn’t sure if Maria knew about what reverence they held of her at the priories, perhaps these stories were even told by clerics overseas— _Minerva_ certainly hadn’t known about it until now. Strange to think that her little sister would be a role model to all clerics before she turned twenty-two, but it made Minerva proud all the same.

Not that it really stopped her from worrying.

She’d been silent for too long, and she noticed how Palla watched her with concern in her eyes. All of them were too polite to speak and kind enough to let her process the news of Maria—Palla and Catria, at least, knew all too well what kinds of conclusions Minerva’s mind usually jumped to when her sister was concerned. Minerva clasped her hands in her lap, her leg aching from the hard chair, but she ignored the pain. She focused her gaze on Rivan.

“While we wait,” she said—hopefully interpreted by those unknowing as a wait for Maria, and not for the result of an intricate plot— “I assume it would be well to adjust our schedule into a council by the morning. Business as usual.”

“Sounds good,” Rivan agreed, and adjusted his hold on Ella again—he seemed reluctant to let go, and Ylina evidently didn’t mind. “Uhm, majesty Palla, will you make the arrangements?”

“I will.”

“And will Ca—the Head Instructor be present?”

Catria shook her head. “Break’s over, I’ve gotta get back to the Academy. Just wanted to know that these two were getting home safe.”

She smiled at Palla and gave Minerva a little nod. Minerva tried and failed to read if there was anything hidden between her words, so she shifted her focus back to Ylina.

The scholars would leave by the morning. Minerva hoped it would be the last time she would have to ask of them to try to keep Macedon from falling apart. She’d done everything she could to be a present queen, the taste of freedom from the last week only spurring her on. That could be her life, if she played her cards right, and play them she would. If patience was all she needed at the moment, she wouldn’t budge.

\---

Minerva tried to not spend council distracted by every twitch on Rucke’s face, which was near-impossible. More impossible yet was trying to not entertain the thought that Julian may take this chance to move behind Rucke’s back—if Julian was even in the castle to begin with.

Grateful for her years of training on the matter, she still managed to listen and to act like she should, although when Rucke’s presence didn’t prod at her mind, the lack of word from Maria needled her. Her sister could be in Triatun already, but rumors travelled faster than letters and twinges of worry shot into her chest as a discussion regarding their trade relations once again reminded her.

“The trade ships from the Aurelio-Archanean Empire have not yet gotten back,” the treasurer Alin said. “I’ve had concerns voiced my way, as it is not the weather that holds them. We do not know why they linger.”

Minerva struggled to hold back the immediate question coming to mind, even she was certain everyone present expected of her to ask. It wasn’t the point of the discussion, though, and blurting the first thing that came to mind was like laying her heart on the table—it’d just make a mess and leave her vulnerable.

Palla gave her a quick glance, and Minerva could not answer with a direct look of her own, focusing on the small crease around Palla’s eyes instead—but that was enough of an affirmation.

“Is the situation the same for other nations?” Palla asked, her voice calm. “If there are unforeseen issues at sea, we may be better off taking the sky route.”

Minerva could not have put the question so eloquently, and her chest filled with gratitude. That Palla’s chair had not had a permanent place around the council table was such a distant memory, it seemed impossible that only months had passed, and that Minerva had ever navigated anything without her.

“There’ve been no other complaints,” the documenter stated, filtering through the notes on the desk. “Ships are passing through to Grust, Gra and Altea are without issue, far as I can see.”

It was fine, Minerva told herself. Maria was doing fine. With the twinge of worry gone, she could put effort into her other aims.

“Then I would like to go through with the trade I suggested the week before,” she said with a tap on the agenda before her. “We have enough grain to send over to Gra, and we could use some of their ore.”

The treasurer Alin, his nervous disposition around Minerva somewhat eased in later months, frowned and cleared his throat. “I don’t see what _need_ you speak of, your majesty. We have more than enough ore from the northern mines. No shortages.”

Images of the war happened upon Minerva rarely—or rather, they no longer took her by surprise. But with her mind in an aggravatingly calm yet frantic restlessness, the thought of Gra came with the clear-cut memory of crude and flat cliffs with struggling farmlands. Unlike most nations, Gra could not sustain itself and was greatly dependent on good relations with the more fertile neighboring lands of Altea—a relationship now harshly overseen by the Aurelio-Archanean Empire.

Minerva knew less about their business and situation than she’d like because of the Empire’s regulations, but the image of their queen Sheena was enough to drive her to try. A queen with a childlike face trying to look older than her fourteen years, her eyes filled with bitterness as she’d stood beside Minerva in a forgotten corner of the Archanean palace.

Minerva had promised herself that when she struggled less, she would try to show that child that she wasn’t alone. It wasn’t about the ore, but Minerva could never get away with giving an entire ship of grain for free.

“I would rather go through with it regardless,” Minerva pressed on, and Alin paled a little, but shook his head.

“I find it contradictory that you would want to prepare the priories for a drought, but would trade our grain for ore we do not need?”

Rucke let out a small breath, like holding back laughter. Minerva managed to repress her dark glare, keeping her eyes on Alin.

“Think of it as a future investment,” Minerva pressed. “Establishing good relations with Gra could save us when our own mines begin to run dry.”

“Besides, we always need good metal,” Palla agreed. “We’re still rebuilding our defenses, after all.”

Rivan gave an affirmative nod. “It is a fair point. Our supplies could do with extra quantities.”

“First General’s concerns and my own tend to overlap,” Ida added right after, gesturing between herself and Rivan. “I’m keen to agree.”

The scales had turned against treasurer Alin so quickly, all he could do was blink repeatedly, as if trying to catch up. “I—well, suppose if all are in favor, I can’t argue the idea.”

He glanced to Rucke as he spoke, waiting for his dismissive counterpoint to back him up, but it never came. Rucke kept a pleasant smile plastered on his face, and he looked over to Minerva with a passive gaze.

 _Fine by me_ , he seemed to say. _I would love to watch you fail._

“Ah, no objections here,” Rucke said, his voice gentle, but Minerva heard the venom within. “I have the utmost faith in our queen.”

\---

The following dawn came with word that a ship had docked to Triatun under much merriment.

The same message stated that Princess Maria was unharmed and sent her warm regards. Minerva should have been calmed by the fact, yet still found herself staring out through every window she passed, like Maria would turn up from over the horizon at any moment.

“This is silly of me,” she stated to Palla, who was holding her arms around Minerva’s waist and laughing quietly in her ear.

“Maybe so,” Palla said, “but I am used to your silliness.”

It would take Maria at least a week to cross Macedon on horseback, and that wait had the potential to derail Minerva’s thoughts further. She tried to stay on task, and with the following dawn, word reached her of another three ships docking to Triatun—trading ships returned from the Empire’s southern docks, cargo still intact and untraded.

The merchants were as confused as everybody else, telling those who asked that they’d simply been ordered by the Empire’s soldiers to turn around without any further explanations. The merchants had stayed and tried to figure out why without much success, and finally left under threat of violence.

Minerva didn’t understand it, and Palla met the news with a similarly deep frown.

“Perhaps there was an issue in documentation and preparation,” the treasurer Alin mumbled during their emergency gathering over the issue, his hands deep into the fringes of his hair. “But there wasn’t. I _know_ there wasn’t.”

Out of all people, it was Rucke who comforted him with a slow pat on the shoulder. Minerva kept her eyes on them during the exchange, resisting the temptation to stare out the window. A deep bell tolled down in the courtyard, marking the hour every worker in the castle should prepare for the evening meal. Time moved so slowly, her chest churning as she resolved the matter with as few words as she could.

She wouldn’t speak her theories out loud, not without more knowledge on the matter, but she’d attuned herself to try and notice the smallest shifts and signs for long enough now, and her senses picked up strange misgivings about the trading ship affair. She could argue to herself that she picked up on much more than necessary, and that she’d do well to question her own judgement, but the letters and orders she got from the Empire had been shorter and more direct in the latter months.

She might do right in sending a letter over to Hardin and Nyna directly, offering her assistance if they were somehow struggling and if Macedon could assist in that struggle. She doubted there would be any need, but personal friend to its royalty or not, the Empire was an indirect sovereign over all kingdoms that had once allied with the losing side, among which Macedon aligned. Minerva needed, above all, to stay on their good side.

And so, she argued that this trading ship incident must have been a temporary mistake, but that they nonetheless should await sending more for a while.

Then she’d finally return to stealing glances out the windows. Her mind brightened whenever there was word from Ida’s and Rivan’s assigned escorts, following Maria at an agreed-upon distance.

She was well. She was fine. She was on her way.

When the moment passed, tension returned. The world outside Macedon made less sense than usual, and Minerva half-expected of Maria to simply disappear. Like Palla and Catria, swept away and leaving Minerva clueless and afraid.

It was difficult to be patient, then, but she tried her best, and Palla kissed her head and told her she was proud of Minerva’s efforts, so she had to believe she succeeded somewhat. If there was anyone’s judgement Minerva trusted above all, it was hers.

\---

Despite time’s spitefully slow progression, the day when Maria reached the capital finally came, and with it, joy spread across the main streets in a way not even Minerva had truly expected.

Maria might not be the core of Macedon’s politics despite her heritage, but she was loved nonetheless. The people of the capital cheered and celebrated their princess as though Minerva’s relief and joy had spread over to the entire city.

Unable to restrain herself, Minerva waited by the outer gates to the castle, flanked by Palla and Catria. The ever-present sky knights caused the shadows cast by the tall spires to flutter.

Maria had walked calmly between her escorts, leading her horse by the reins. She hid slightly in the collar of her shirt at the attention from the streets, but still waved and smiled back to the people that lined them. Once she was close enough to the gates, however, her attention shifted. She handed her reins over to the guard beside her and jogged the rest of the way to Minerva’s open arms.

Her hair was freshly cut, silky smooth unlike Minerva’s rough tangles. She was a little heavier than Minerva remembered her being, but there was still no issue in lifting her off the ground and making her laugh.

If the people of the streets outside made any sound, Minerva didn’t register it. She breathed deeply, warm air reaching her lungs. Maria smelled of road dust and sugar pastries, the final detail convincing Minerva that she was _really_ _there_.

“Hey,” Maria chuckled into her shoulder. “Miss me?”

“You have no idea,” Minerva laughed.

That was the only private moment she could steal. The gates were closing, and she let Maria back down on the ground so she could give the people behind her a final wave, before Palla bent down to embrace her as well. A gentle hug and a relieved smile, in contrast to her sister.

Catria mirrored Minerva, hoisting Maria straight off the ground and spinning her around. “Oof—hey there, lil’sister princess! You sure got taller, huh?”

“I haven’t been gone _that_ long,” Maria answered with another little laugh. “I came to the wedding, after all! I don’t understand all this fuss.”

“It’s a tough life, being loved,” Catria nodded, trying to keep a serious tone.

“ _You’re_ one to talk,” Maria said as her feet got back to the ground, holding on to Catria’s shoulder and keeping her gaze. “You will tell me _everything_ about your Valentian girlfriend, right? _Right_?”

Catria flushed and grinned, patting Maria’s hand. “Better yet, you might even meet her someday soon! I’m always free for a talk, though—unless you’ve got something else planned. Important books to read in order to keep that mind on a university level, right?”

Maria shook her head. “I never thought I’d say it, but I don’t want to read anything for a while, and especially not _now_.” She smiled wide at Minerva, then put her hand on Palla’s arm. “Hey, wanna walk me to my room? I just want to leave my backpack—then I _need_ to eat something, I’ve been so nervous the whole way through the capital, I couldn’t have my breakfast.”

“Nervous?” Palla smiled back. “Why?”

Maria gestured vaguely back toward the town. “I didn’t expect… _that._ It got really noisy and I couldn’t relax.”

“You sure you want our company?” Catria asked.

“Yes!” Maria pressed her hands toward the middle of her chest, something she’d do to calm herself, still smiling. “I’ve missed you all so much, and I don’t even know where to begin! I want to see the new curtains in the council chamber, I want to meet your students, Catria, and I want to say hello to Hera—she seems like she’s become such a sweetheart since I’ve been gone!”

Minerva chose not to comment on just how little of a sweetheart Hera was, letting Maria continue an incoherent but no less excited list as they joined in with Maria’s quick steps through the courtyard.

By the time they got inside, they were stopped every so often by servants who wanted to welcome Maria. Despite her expressed exhaustion, Maria made sure to greet every single one of them. Her clasped hands remained pressed to the center of her chest and she kept close to Minerva’s side, yet she radiated a confidence Minerva had not seen before.

Their progress through the castle slow enough to allow Minerva’s gaze to wander to the shadows, search the faces of those in the background, and silently wonder. She’d heard nothing from Julian, and that reminder crept up on her at the most unexpected times. She could not even allow herself to indulge in the joy of her sister’s company without her attention drawing away. This silent war would leave her aged and exhausted, but she hoped it would be worth it.

“The air’s gotten better in here,” Maria said as they walked through the hallways, unhindered at last. “Those new ventilation systems you told me about in your letters sure seem to work!”

“I cannot believe I bored you with ventilation systems,” Minerva chuckled.

“That wasn’t boring,” Maria protested. “You made it sound pretty fun!”

“I’m glad I’ve gotten good enough at writing letters,” Minerva said. “But it’s much easier to speak face to face.”

“Definitely is,” Maria said and closed her eyes with a dreaming smile. “It feels great to be home.”

Palla walked with her hands behind her back, a peaceful smile on her face. “Think you’re going to stay awhile, this time?”

Maria pondered this for a moment. “I think Valentia can wait for a few months, at least? I plan to go with Est, anyway, and she says her shop’s so busy during the summer she can’t possibly take a break until autumn.”

“It’ll still be there, trust me,” Catria chuckled, then her face got a bit more serious. “Might be a good idea to wait, actually, Clair says they’re still working hard with getting old witchmakers in line and stuff.”

Maria frowned. “Est mentioned something about witchmakers in her letters… I tried to ask Merric about that, but he hadn’t a clue. What’re they like?”

Minerva felt the air shift a little. She herself knew little about the horrid creation of what the Valentians called witches—Palla had told her in fractioned tales, stopping only to realize how much the concept frightened her, and Minerva was the opposite of curious about Valentian magic practices and hated to see Palla in distress, so she really hadn’t pushed. She knew enough to understand why Palla’s eyes now were downcast and her smile dulled, at least.

Catria cleared her throat. “Will definitely tell you, someday. It’s a whole mess to untangle, so not right now, okay? Hey, speaking of journeys, how was your trip through Macedon?”

Maria followed her to the new topic without complaint, smiling and adjusting her backpack. “It was great! Though before we got to Macedon we stopped by in Grust, and that was… uhm, less fun. One of the sailors got into a fistfight with a Grustian because the man had accidentally assumed the sailor to be from Aurelis. It was weird how angry he got. I had to spend the entire journey over trying to get his front teeth back in, and to stop his eye from swelling. But! Everyone in Macedon was lovely! Plus, I stopped by Lena’s, and all the kids talked about how the queen wife let them ride her pegasus!”

That made the light return to Palla’s gaze. “I should do that again sometime. They were all so sweet.”

Catria elbowed her in the side. “Maybe you should take to teaching as well, huh?”

“I think I have enough on my plate,” Palla laughed. “But I’d certainly like to return to the priory, someday.”

“Yeah, I barely wanted to leave,” Maria chuckled.

“Then I assume you and Lena got time to speak to one another?” Minerva asked Maria this without dropping the lighthearted tone of their conversation, but her heart quivered, hoping Maria knew to keep discretion.

“Yeah, a little bit,” Maria answered, brightly as before, but with a pointed look, telling Minerva that there was more beneath the answer. “Old memories, and new ones.”

“How lovely,” Minerva said, meeting her gaze as they stopped by the door to Maria’s quarters. “Let me help you unpack.”

“It’s just my backpack here; the rest won’t arrive until tomorrow,” Maria began, then bit her lip and nodded at her. “But sure, if you want?”

Palla opened the door, but didn’t step inside—she had the look about her like she expected to stand guard, an instinct strong as ever, and Minerva didn’t try to stop her. Catria arched a brow and didn’t move to enter either, Minerva and Maria the only ones beyond the threshold.

“All right,” Maria said with a clearing of her throat. “Uh, yeah, these papers could go on the desk, and my quills should be in that drawer, and—“

Palla closed the door behind them, and without another word, Minerva reached a snippet of parchment over. She had hoped to be done with letters, but not yet.

Maria frowned at her, then down at the letter, holding her breath. Maria had a keen sense for tension, no doubt about that, and Minerva felt herself oozing of it. Lena might be right, she had a tell.

Maria read quickly, then looked intently at Minerva as she crumpled the letter between her fingers, and mouthing a silent ‘ _I know_ ’ at her.

Minerva nodded, relieved to have it be Lena to break the news to Maria, so she didn’t have to explain everything. She trusted Lena would have done so with full discretion, while Minerva hated the secrecy, she hated the thought of not being able to spare Maria the need for theatrics even more.

“As I said, the quills should be in that drawer,” Maria continued, her voice level and her hand reaching toward the fireplace. “Maybe we could all eat in here… Like I said, I’m starving—I’ll get this place some warmth.”

A surge of magic swept through the room and in the same moment as Maria cast her spell, Minerva’s letter burned in the air, and the flames shot into the fireplace.

Minerva didn’t have to pretend to be impressed. “You’ve mastered fire magic?”

“Far from _mastered_ , dear sister,” Maria said with a dramatic flick of her wrist. “But Merric told me I had promise, that I might be as good at nature magic as I am with earth.”

“That does not surprise me,” Minerva laughed and opened the door again, carefully. She managed to catch glimpses of Palla’s and Catria’s grim faces as they stood leaning against the opposite wall, before their faces changed again to something brighter.

“I suggest we get something to eat and sit in my room, if you could spare the time?” Maria said.

The grimness in the air was not alleviated completely, but Palla smiled and Catria chuckled.

“I’m sure I can take an extended break,” Catria said. “My students will understand if I tell them it was to sell the princess on the wonders of Valentian flavors.”

The fire crackled over what remained of Minerva’s letter, turning it to ash, and for a brief time, Minerva decided she would forget the shadows and allow herself to be fully immersed in a complete family, free of struggles.

Their walk down to the kitchens was as slow as their trip to Maria’s quarters, with Maria spreading her radiance, laughing and greeting the kitchen workers as old friends would. Once again inside Maria’s room with steaming dishes placed on a table that Minerva quickly wiped dust off, Maria collapsed onto a chair and leaned against Minerva for support.

“Let’s get you something to get that energy back,” Catria said and put the wooden plates acting as makeshift lids off the dishes.

Most large kitchens in Macedon now sported Valentian goods, at least the more common ones, and Catria had put on tiny portions of each and scooting them over to Maria, who politely tried everything she was offered.

None of the options were too popular. Maria had never been overly fond of strong spices, and she found the texture of non-filtered orange-juice too strange and filtered juice too tart. Catria had to admit defeat eventually, leaving Maria to eat her minced meat pie in peace.

The time never slowed, and once she had color back on her cheeks, nor did Maria’s tales. She recited every moment of success in making salves, the joys of venturing outside the University oasis to explore the strange magic of Khadein in groups, and the thrill of being able to help her fellow students grasp the width of earth magic.

Once stories about the university dwindled, Palla’s and Catria’s tales of Valentia left Maria wide-eyed and grinning, and even for Minerva, it was like hearing them for the first time despite feeling like she almost knew the people and places by heart. Catria spared no detail in trying to describe just how clever and well-meaning and blunt and beautifully stubborn her Clair was, and Maria spared no question, either.

Macedon was rarely mentioned. None of them wished to dull the moment with an accidental reminder of current strife, and for that, Minerva was grateful. There were worried gleams in Maria’s eye occasionally, and Palla’s attention shifted every so often to every doorway, the softness on her face giving room to the steel of a lifeguard, but those moments were rare, all things considered.

The day slipped away in the blink of an eye, and once darkness began to settle, Catria got to standing. She muttered something about ‘ _damned responsibilities_ ’ before she gave Maria a warm hug.

“Gotta get back to the Academy,” she said. “But this isn’t the last you see of me, lil’sister—I’ve got a _lot_ more to tell you.”

“About Clair, I’m guessing,” Maria laughed quietly and hugged her tighter. “I look forward to it!”

Catria only grinned at her and patted her back. Palla had gotten to standing as well, slipping a hand onto Minerva’s shoulder and giving her a quick kiss on the forehead.

“I’ll walk with Catria to the gates,” Palla said, letting Minerva catch her fingers and giving them a squeeze before she let go. “Then I’ll go to our rooms. Meet me there? You two still have more to catch up on, I’m guessing.”

It was true, of course; Minerva felt like all the time in the world couldn’t be enough, and saying good night now would feel much too abrupt. A silent bell of warning tolled in her mind at the idea of separating from Palla when the shadows were long and sharp, but she suppressed that idea. Her quarters weren’t that far away from Maria’s, so she’d stay here in Maria’s company for just another few minutes.

Yet they spent the first few moments alone in silence. It was a silence Minerva had missed, though. Maria leaned her head against her arm. She seemed to reach taller now, although she was still small next to Minerva.

Minerva put an arm carefully around her, letting the silence be, unspoken words still palpable.

“The university wasn’t all fantastic, you know,” Maria suddenly said, as if she’d longed to clarify something but hadn’t been able to before.

“How do you mean?”

“Many mages in the same place with a lot of different ideas,” Maria answered. “Even the teachers disagreed sometimes. Merric argued a lot with another mentor—Arlen, if you remember me mentioning him. He was stricter than most, and some students thought it was a good idea to make a pecking order in his class, to get better scores themselves. It could get pretty exhausting.”

Maria paused for a moment, then bit her lip and shrugged. “I mean, overall everything was still good, I just… picked up on some things. The university is a home to many of us with magic ability, for some, it’s all they’ve got, so I understand why it is so important for everything to function… Later months in particular could be full of heated discussions about how to make everything work _best_ , though. Merric wanted everyone to feel equally welcome, Arlen wanted those who did well to be rewarded over those who didn’t, and in the end, the students started taking sides too.”

Minerva stroked her back. “I suppose such discussions are inevitable. Were they ever… Are you doing all right?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Maria said, then paused again, as if expecting Minerva to comment on her use of Valentian phrasing, but when Minerva said nothing, she only shrugged again. “No one was mean to me, if that’s what you’re asking. I guess I just picked up on a lot without really trying—I never really stopped being sensitive to that stuff.”

Maria stared out into empty space for a moment, her head pressed against Minerva’s arm. “It’s good if you know this… Sometimes I could stop and look down at myself and realize that I was far away, without my family, within stone walls, and well… One’s subconscious doesn’t discriminate on details.”

Minerva understood what she meant, only squeezed her a little.

“Still,” Maria added. “I was far from the only one there that had suffered during the war. Merric had appointed one of the kind old teachers to help and support us—their name was Eivor. They were there for us, listening and offering advice. I got to talk about everything that’s happened to someone who didn’t judge and wasn’t directly involved, and…it felt really, really good.”

Maria smiled up at her, then looked back down at her hands. “Sorry to delve into that sort of stuff, but I’m just… I wanted you to know. Eivor suggested that perhaps my life has a hole in it, and that I’m trying to fill it now. Figuring out what it is you want out of life can be exhausting, but that’s fine. I’m doing fine. I’m happy to be here with you again, and that’s something I never want to go away.”

“I don’t plan to go away anytime soon,” Minerva smiled back down at her, then turned more serious. “Thanks for telling me, Maria. You should know, I am immensely proud of you. Always.”

Maria’s smile widened, then she laughed a little. “And you’d be embarrassed to know how proud _I_ am to have you for my sister. My friends in Khadein know—oh my goodness, do they know. They were polite enough not to roll their eyes at me, we usually just laughed about it. It feels a little empty to not have them around, now.”

Minerva straightened to get a little bit more comfortable, the warmth from Maria’s head still on her arm. “You miss them?”

“Lots,” Maria laughed. “Most of them chose to stay in Khadein for another year or two. Villie wanted to teach, Tija wanted to stay and take care of the littlest mage kids, the rest wanted to continue their studies. It’s funny how they were all strangers to me two years ago, and that those strangers became friends. All that heartbreak and all that fun, you know… These friends were different from the League and everyone here—I don’t know how it is different, but I’d say that at a place like the university, it’s more a guarantee that you _will_ get a little bit hurt. Because sometimes your friends don’t choose you first, sometimes a party happens that you didn’t like and you feel like something's wrong with you and keep overthinking things, but I talked to Eivor about that stuff too and they said it is just… a part of everything, you know. It’s living. There’s still love and joy, there’s _choice_ , and no one ever really feels confident in theirs, always. And that really made me think that I _can_ choose things for myself now, and I love to finally be able to try that out.”

Minerva let her speak, merely watched her. A silent sort of awe spread within her. This was her sister. She was grown, maturing into her own self, and it was an incredible realization.

Their lives may split again, and that felt completely fine. Maria was strong and alive, everything Minerva had wanted for her. Distance could not make her love her any less—it would be natural for her to move on, to fly out into the world.

“I love that you get to do that, too,” Minerva told her. “And I know that whatever you choose for yourself, you’ll find something that suits you, and I’ll support you.”

Maria hugged her, properly this time. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I know, sister. I’ll always know.”

She let go as suddenly as she’d embraced her, and her smile was wide and true. “Now, you should go and meet up with Palla, so you don’t cause her any worry. I’ll still be here in the morning, Minerva.”

The final rays of sunset flickered through the slits of the windows, as to prove Maria’s point.

“Right,” Minerva chuckled and got to her feet. “Good night, little candle.”

\---

Darkness fluttered from sparse torchlight in the hallways. Bulging pillars melded with the walls and cast shadows in the crevices.

Minerva’s steps rang in the emptiness of the moment, the airy softness she had carried with her from Maria’s rooms leaving her as she inhaled, her eyes remembering they should be twitching and searching.

And after so many days of latent wondering, she truly picked up on the hint of another presence from her left. A small voice, no more than a whisper.

“Your majesty—”

Minerva had her small dagger out in a moment, and she pinpointed the shadow behind the arching pillar. At that moment, she did not think, her hands guided by an instinct rooted deeper than breathing.

She dived at the throat of the shadow, but a second flash of steel parried her thrust. The tip of her knife dug into the soft mortar of the pillar. She still had enough force to maim but she was slow, too slow—

“Gods above, y’majesty,” the shadow hissed. “It’s me, Julian!”

Minerva could only muster a sharp exhale, the threat still blaring in her mind. She slowly pulled the knife back, and as the face before her became clearer, she returned it to her belt without taking her eyes away from the shadow beneath the hood. If she looked away, she feared he would change into the threat her subconscious had foreseen.

“Most people shake hands,” Julian breathed back at her. “That’s not the case with thieves an’ spies, hey?”

“Julian,” Minerva said, and her shoulders finally relaxed, if only slightly. “I’m so sorry—“

Julian lifted a hand as he leaned into the light, a small smile on his lips. “Strike first, ask questions second; I get that. You always were sort of scary like that.”

Minerva threw an eye over her shoulder into the black emptiness of the hallway. “Are you certain we are alone?”

Julian’s face grew more serious. “As of this moment, but I’ll be quick: You wanted me to steal something convicting, and I did.”

He gave her a small roll of documents, spun into a thin, flattened pile with a broken seal.

“This isn’t all,” Julian whispered. “I’ve done some listening, too. I dunno if you’ll take my word for it, but here goes: There’re secret factions in the academy and the military, and they’re growing. Rucke’s name is never mentioned, but I’ve seen the way he’s revered by them. A few careless words confirm that these factions are loyal to him, and him only. They fancy your flag right now because it fits them, but whispers go that they’re ready to break free of you if ‘ _necessary_ ’. The man himself is careful to not voice any actual treason, though.”

“A recurring frustration,” Minerva noted.

Julian tapped the document in her hand. “This here lists all of his top confidants and contacts, and there’s a document he’s signed as part of a code—it’s all I have tying everything to him in print. You weren’t kidding when you said he was guarded. Couldn’t dig out more without risk.”

“This is plenty, Julian.” Minerva wasn’t sure what she’d feel once her questions were finally answered, but right then she was nothing but relieved. “Thank you. I’ll make this count.”

“I know you will,” Julian said, shifting on his feet for a moment and watching the shadows with intense attention, before he relaxed again. “You get stuff done, y’majesty. I respect that. And I know I’m just a thief and a priory-man. I don’t get to tell you what to do… But, if you want me to stay for a while longer, I will.”

“I must act fast, though,” Minerva objected. “Rucke will catch wind that these are missing, will he not?”

“Ah, you think so little of me?” Julian pressed his hands into his pockets, tilting his head. “I’ll be the first to admit, forging copies was hard work, and I might have been sloppy because mind you, my handwritin’ has never been the best… But I don’t think he’ll notice it is gone anytime soon. So I’m just saying, you want me here, I’ll be here. Part of being a spy is playing the long game, wait for your target to slip—“

Minerva shook her head. “I’ve heard what I need to, and I won’t keep you from Lena’s priory any longer. I’m sure you’re needed.”

“They must miss my stew something awful, yes,” Julian agreed with a sly smile, then surprising her by tapping his hand on her arm, a familiar and comfortable gesture. “You only need to send word, hey? Lena forwards her regards, too—same applies to her, obviously. We’re not above some sleuthing, and you know where to find us.”

“I do indeed,” Minerva said with a shaky smile, returning the gesture with a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Julian. Truly.”

In the next breath, she let go, and Julian melted like smoke into the shadows. She did not hear him move away, nor did she stay any longer to search for him.

Her heart beating to the steady rhythm of her steps, she hurried down the remainder of the hallway.


	5. Conspiracy

Minerva slept little. The darkness did not reach her eyes, did not dull her mind. She stood with her hands on the desk of her quarters, leaning over Julian’s list of names and coded documents like she was planning formations before a battle.

It wasn’t far off. This was her war room, now.

Palla stood opposite her, her brow equally furrowed. The joy of Maria’s return was near-forgotten, their silence an empty canvas where they had yet to paint a stroke.

Minerva could say what she liked about war—at least decisions got made. There was clarity in those tactics, in risks and benefits where countless years of experience made the decision for her. This was a guessing game, where half the battle was keeping her head above the surface.

Should she go for a quick reaction to this evidence, or suffer through another week of calculated pretense? Should she put Rucke in a dungeon, or a ship straight to the Pyrathi islands? How could she arrange for that without rousing Rucke’s suspicion—should she go and pull those she trusted from their beds right now, ask of them to work beneath the shroud of night?

“They’re too dangerous to keep within Macedon,” Palla stated with a lift of her head, finally breaking the silence. “I don’t think a cell is enough to keep him. If we still do not consider execution, exile is the only option.”

“I agree,” Minerva said, her knuckles white from hugging the wood of the desk. “That would typically mean sending him to the Pyrathi archipelago to fend for himself… Yet that feels too close to us. If a dungeon does not feel like enough, can I trust a ship to carry him over? Once we reveal our knowledge, we need to be sure that he can never reach us again.”

“Pyrathi doesn’t have that guarantee,” Palla said, voice grave. “…Minerva. We need to ask for help.”

There was no map before them, but the path was drawn to Minerva without it. Across Archanea laid the hostile wastelands to the far north, where not even the most stubborn would try to build a life…

It was better far than a dungeon. No guards to manipulate, no proximity to civilization. He would be doomed. Not to die, at least not directly—it might be an execution, but in the fine print of politics, it was still mercy. The key thing was that he would never return to Macedon, couldn’t possibly journey over the entirety of Archanea unseen.

He would never slither between these walls again.

She needed to trust a ship to be able to withhold him, needed to trust the party escorting him—both of which came easier than the final need. She had to trust the emperor and empress to allow her to have Rucke’s escort pass through their lands.

The Empire’s harbors refusing to greet Minerva’s trade ships flashed through her memory, but she pushed it aside. She needed to keep her focus, trust in Hardin and Nyna.

“We do need help,” she agreed. “We send Ida to the Millenium Court under a guise, asking for permission to pass through to the northern wastelands. We’ll have Rucke and his men go by sea as far north as is possible, then they’ll be brought over the northwestern Archanean tundra, before they’re released once they’re far enough in the wastelands.”

Palla’s frown eased, then returned. “We need to properly ensnare him first, Minerva.”

“It will be done,” Minerva assured her, her fingers brushing over the list and ledgers Julian had brought them. “We need to get word out to the rest, which might prove difficult, but we will manage. Let us hope we still have a bit more time.”

“Hope is not all we have,” Palla said. “As long as we keep our senses keen.”

It might have been the sleepiness blurring Minerva’s thoughts, but a chill wandered through her. She did not know if Rucke’s plans changed with Maria’s return, and now she opened her mind to try to predict in what ways he might target her… That thought nearly devoured her, her heart spreading fire in her veins—she should cast all of these plans aside and take Hauteclere back from its hiding place.

Her vision unfocused, she backed down from the thought. Slowly, methodically.

She was not a demon of anger and self-preservation. She’d spent painstaking years opening her eyes to the bigger picture she’d struggled to see in the past, and they weren’t for nothing. Though in a way, she wished they would be.

It would be far easier, if so.

She took the documents, folded them and put them in the inside pocket of her jacket.

“Will you walk with me?” she asked Palla, surprising herself with the softness of her own voice.

Palla breathed deeply through her nose, her voice less softened. “Until the day I die, which will not be tonight. Lead the way.”

With the path to Rivan’s abode clear in her mind, she took Palla’s outstretched hand and moved with deliberate swiftness through the hallways. She noticed Palla kept her other hand on the hilt of her belt knife, both of them barely breathing as though that would cloak them from the shadows.

They were not in any more danger now than they were before, Minerva _knew_ that, but the documents in her pocket still seemed to burn and mark her, and she saw glinting knives in every shadow.

She wouldn’t let that slow her down, though. The walls were closing in on her, but she pushed them back. She would always push them back.

\---

The week rushed past in their game of pretend. Minerva did not leave the castle, not even to visit the Academy, but the movements of the capital continued as it always did, a beating heart refusing to slow its pulse.

Maria stayed by her side, her hands in her tunic pocket but her eyes tensely flickering toward Minerva’s or Palla’s face. She was good at masking her nervousness, aside from how torches sparked around her and the sunlight hovered brightly over her skin.

She was drawing magic only when they ventured outside their rooms, a constant precaution. When others commented on her tiny magic stunts, Maria smiled a bright smile and assured them that it was a simple matter of her having a hard time letting go of the senses the air of Khadein had granted her. When Minerva commented, the tenseness of thunder was in the air and Maria did not smile in the slightest.

“I’m looking out for you two,” she whispered. “Magic is quicker than blades.”

Minerva wanted to embrace her, tell her that such worry was unnecessary, but did neither. She put a hand on Maria’s shoulder.

“I know I can count on you,” she answered. “But promise me you look out for yourself, too.”

If her later months had been tense, now Minerva was walking on needles. Rivan knew, Catria knew, Ida was on her way to the Empire’s palace. Their plans unfolded in an uncanny silence that wouldn’t last.

Rucke no doubt worked parallel to them in his own ways—if he’d recognized the forgery of his documents, he made no notion of it. He might be in the dark, but he might pretending just as much as Minerva was.

She hoped he wasn’t. Her countermeasures would come swiftly as soon as Ida returned, and she wanted to surprise him.

The only moment she relaxed her shoulders was when Palla melted into her embrace and when Maria smiled true smiles. Both rare occasions in the latter days.

Another week into waiting for Ida’s flying party to return, the skies were clear and winds beckoning. Both Minerva and Palla had some time to spare, so they turned to the stables, offering Maria to come with them.

Minerva didn’t plan to fly. Wyverns and pegasi were let out daily by the stable workers so that they could keep their strength and happiness, so if there was no intention to ride them, there was no need for their masters to let them out themselves.

That didn’t matter much to Minerva. Seeing Hera stretch her wings was in a way like soaring with her, and that aside, if Minerva went too long without visiting, she’d miss Hera more than she liked to admit. Hera seemed to prefer to have Minerva pass by every other day, too, so maybe she missed Minerva more than she’d like to admit, too.

No bridle was needed, Minerva simply opened the door to the large enclosure where Hera comfortably rested and the wyvern sprang to her feet and slithered after her, giving an excited nudge between Minerva’s shoulders with enough force to almost keel her over.

“Is it too much to ask that you behave?” Minerva chuckled to herself, a course sound through her tense throat.

Hera snorted lightheartedly, then raised her head with sudden interest. They were outside, and she had noticed Maria.

Maria had seen Hera from a distance at Minerva’s wedding and never had time to greet her properly afterwards, so in a way, it was the first time in a year the two of them properly saw one another. Hera had hardly been manageable the last time Maria had lived on the castle grounds, pointedly ignoring every attempt at connection.

Now, she looked at Maria intently, then back at Minerva for a quick glance, before she locked her eyes on Maria again. Hera did not look away even when Avil walked out beside her with Palla on his bare back. Pegasi usually pulled at her attention or made her click her tongue with annoyance when they got close, but not now. She was piecing a puzzle together.

“Yes,” Minerva told her, still with laughter in her voice. “That’s my sister.”

Maria stepped closer with careful confidence, and Hera let her.

“Hello, Hera,” Maria cooed at her, reaching her palm toward the wyvern. “You’re so beautiful!”

Hera preened slightly. At times, Minerva was certain Hera knew human language better than a toddler—although she certainly had the mannerisms of one. She was surprisingly mature at the moment, though, bending her head down, tilting it as she let Maria put her hand against her scales. No nudges or pushes or pretense at biting.

Maria smiled, softly stroking Hera’s neck.

“I don’t see what my sister’s about, calling you a menace,” she laughed. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing?”

The air around them was soft, nurturing. Maria’s unconscious emittance of earth magic had always worked to soothe animals and people around her, which could explain in part why Hera was so calm, but not entirely.

“I think she’s doing this to spite me,” Minerva said, glancing up at Palla where she sat mounted and smiling.

“Seems like something she would do,” Palla said. “She knows her antics amuse you.”

Minerva chuckled, resting an arm over the nape of Hera’s neck. “I try to hide it, but you see right through me, huh?”

Hera gave a small click at the back of her throat, a sound of disapproval, but she curled around Minerva all the same, a wyvern’s embrace. She kept her head very still in Maria’s hands, her eyes half-closed as Maria stroked her scales.

“I can tell that she loves you very much,” Maria beamed, her magic surrounding all three of them.

Hera clicked again, as if to protest and save face, but didn’t move away. Her eyes darted to Palla and Avil, watching as they readied themselves to fly. She whipped her tail once, nudging it against Minerva’s back.

Minerva felt it too, a deep longing to simply breathe the air above them, leave her troubles here below. It hadn’t been her intention coming here, but the temptation drew at her, and Maria’s glance at the patrolling sky knights around the castle was what sealed her decision.

“I think I’ll fly,” she said to Palla, then placed her hand on Maria’s back. “Hera’s strong enough to carry both of us, I’m sure. Would you want to join me?”

Maria hesitated, but only for a moment. She nodded, letting go of Hera’s face. “With a saddle, though.”

“Sounds like I’ll have to get mine too, then,” Palla smiled, in the same movement as she dismounted.

Not long after, the stable was but a speck below them. Avil circled around, Palla’s hair loose like a banner, following Minerva’s every turn as seamless as when they were young. Minerva urged Hera higher, higher, until Maria grabbed at her wrists, reminding her to slow down.

The wind tore at them, but they hovered in place, surrounded by the myriad of flying beasts crossing above the capital and following the roads drawn far below. From that point of view, the entire kingdom looked like one living creature—every beat of wings like the wave of a pulse, the winds like its vigorous breaths.

They were at the center of it, solitary but part of a whole. One family among thousands.

Past and present blurred for Minerva. Maria, grinning and shielding her eyes with her hand like she once had used to, a piece of a time before when there was only the two of them. Then there was The bustle of Macedon all around them, rebuilt from a time of hardships none had forgotten, its walls re-shaped, its roads pathed anew, ruins dotting the distances of old war fortresses there was no use for. It was the world she had fought to build, brick by brick and moment by moment.

Both parts existed within her, but here, high above, she was still free.

Maria laughed in both fear and delight as Palla swished past before them, raising her hand to wave back. A flock of swallows crisscrossed below them, startling the crows that had perched in a tree in the courtyard, and the mass of birds brushed past them.

Minerva breathed deeply. She had not expected to truly forget what ailed her, but for these blessed instants, she had. Just a few short-lived moments, though, as Palla came to a halt before them and signalled two short words.

‘ _Party returning_ ’, she said, and Minerva frowned as Palla spelled out _‘I-D-A’_.

Minerva followed Palla’s pointing finger with her gaze, and her heart both soared and plummeted.

Ida was but a spot on the northern horizon, but she was still recognizable enough on her enormous green wyvern. She stood out with the additional four near-identical beasts flanking her, all of them born from the same mother as Titania.

Years ago, Ida’s choices in mounts for herself and her squad had seemed to be salt in Minerva’s old wounds, a taunt if nothing else, but Minerva had made peace with it knowing she had been given the same option and neglected it. Besides, there was no malice in Ida’s choice; it made sense for the councillor of security to ride nothing but the best, and Titania had been a warrior in her own right, her siblings just the same. This squad crossed over the Empire quicker than most ever could because of that, and Minerva could only hope it had paid off.

If they’d gotten what they asked for from the Empire, it was time to strike. She hugged Maria’s waist, shouting in her ear.

“We’re going down, little candle.”

Maria nodded, saving her voice. She’d spotted Ida too. There wasn’t much to say to that.

\---

Wondering gazes were thrown their way, as Minerva stood with her sister and wife awaiting a councillor that had been on an unimportant, regular short leave for Archanea. Normally she wouldn’t draw this much attention, but fists clenched in her pockets, she was done hiding.

Hera, saddle removed and given the option to go back to the stable and rest, had preferred to stay. She lay sprawled in the corner of the landing spot filled with soft sand, but her eyes followed the descending party of Ida’s wyverns, watched them closely as they neared Minerva.

Ida’s head was hidden beneath her helmet, but as she slid off her wyvern’s back and removed it, something seemed _off_ about her face.

Her hair had turned slightly grayer, specks between dark strands, and her left eye was bloated and swollen shut. Her companions were whole, but their faces were grim and exhausted, and some of them held their limbs close to their body as if shielding them.

No one had the time to speak before Maria left Minerva’s side and beckoned Ida to bow down so that she could look at the injury. Ida dipped her head, but moved no further.

“Don’t bother with me, princess,” Ida grumbled and jabbed her hand at the rest of her squad. “We’re all fine. Bit of a mishap, is all it was.”

“I’d like to help all the same,” Maria insisted. “I’m sure my sister could walk you to the infirmary while I give your squad a quick check-up.”

Ida raised her brows, then bowed quickly. “You’re too kind, princess.”

Minerva hated that she didn’t know what was pretense to get a believable opportunity for a moment’s privacy, and what was genuine. Surely, Maria would have offered to help regardless, but this was roundabout and maddening. And she hated leaving Maria alone out in the open. She considered asking Palla to stay here as well, when Maria turned around and gave a slight flick of her wrist and a deep frown. A shooing motion, toward the both of them.

Minerva nodded at her, pushing her worries aside. Hera, sensing the tension, had gotten to her feet and puffed up her chest, glaring at the five wyverns that towered over her. She certainly did not lack courage, and for what it was worth, it eased Minerva’s unease. Maria wasn’t completely alone.

Wordlessly, Palla took the lead, and Ida fell in step behind her. Minerva walked last, her gaze lingering on Maria as she pried open one of the soldier’s gauntlets, until she was out of sight.

The three of them moved through the hallways until they reached the first rooms where Minerva could easily dismiss the guards.

“Empire’s has given an all-clear,” Ida said the moment they were alone, the black eye on her face causing her to squint. “High-strung bastards, though. I didn’t get to leave your message to the royals themselves, wasn’t even allowed into the damn capital. They gave me this approval with the Empress’ seal and told me to leave. When I asked why they weren’t letting us in, the captain did this.”

Ida gestured at her face, her lips twisted into a frown.

“I could’ve squashed them,” she continued. “But then I might as well have burned this approval. Still, though, I didn’t remember the Archaneans to be this…callous. They insisted on escorting us all the way to and from the capital and they refused to let us speak with anyone other than ourselves, roughing us up with their carelessness—and they _muzzled our wyverns_. They’re buffoons! I don’t know what their deal is… You fought beside this lot, your majesties?”

Minerva had knitted her brow at Ida's tale, but relaxed her face at the question.

Ida rarely spoke of the time before Minerva’s coronation. She had, like the rest of the surviving noble council, simply taken her place by the table like she belonged. She had thrown down her weapons in surrender when Michalis fell, and that was as loyal as she had to be. That she would do the same if Minerva took a similar fall didn’t matter. She was a part of Macedon’s politics, her family one to have served Iote’s heirs throughout history, and she knew Minerva couldn’t get rid of her easily.

She’d proven herself to be right for the position, and while she may not be a _friend_ , Minerva wouldn’t want Ida anywhere but at her side.

“They knew better manners then,” Minerva answered. “I’m—”

Ida raised her hand. “Don’t apologize on their behalf. I took that fist to my face with honor intact, doing my part.” She lowered her hand, as if just realizing she had interrupted the queen, and cleared her throat and folded her arms with a nod. “Excuse me, your majesty. What I mean is, I was happy to do my duty. I wouldn’t do it as gladly for a certain glowering king, but you…glare less. Like your father. And I served him fondly.”

It might have been to save face, but Minerva had never heard Ida speak so openly of the past before.

“You’re not there _yet_ ,” Ida concluded, as if needing to balance out her compliments. “But you do good work, majesty. I would get bashed in your name again and not be too petty about it.”

Minerva wasn’t sure what to say to that. She held the sealed approval but didn’t move to open it. “…Thank you, Ida.”

Ida’s cheeks darkened, but she tried to hide it with a huff. “Don’t thank me,” she said. “At least not until we’ve plucked and thrown out some bad apples. You’d better not be this soft with the bastard.”

Minerva nodded, a silent promise. She hardened her eyes, set her jaw, hoping that was answer enough.

It was time.


	6. Throne Room

The throne room was filled to the brim with guards that didn’t know the reason for their assembly. They seemed tense, nonetheless. They understood something had to be wrong, considering that Minerva almost never called for a meeting in the throne hall. They sensed the change, the thunderclap that had cracked into the earth as Minerva placed herself on the throne, the boulder that had been sent rolling down the side of a mountain.

Watching their entire plan unfold within less than a few hours had caused Minerva to finally grasp the true complexity of what they’d orchestrated, and she berated herself for ever thinking she could have done this on her own.

Palla had spread the information to everyone involved with great care. Rivan had finalized the arrangements for a prisoner’s ship so that Rucke’s time in a dungeon would be as short as possible, giving him no opportunity to counter them, while Rivan and Ida rounded up the rest of his men.

Maria had set fire to Rucke’s closest knight’s room in the barracks as Rucke himself had been close, and in the commotion, Catria had watched him search for the forged documents Julian had left there, seen him put it into his pockets. When she’d whispered this to Minerva she’d fought to keep a smile off her face.

The room felt cold with the stiffness of the queensguards, but the blood coursed hot through Minerva’s veins.

By the front of the guards to the left stood Catria, fully armed and with her armored helmet fastened tightly beneath her chin. Beside her was Rivan, equally armed, with his focus on the troops in the room, ready to catch any betraying nervousness.

Perhaps he tried to appear as much in control as he could, considering how shocked and ashamed he’d been when Minerva had shown him the list of names.

“These ones were demoted after your brother’s dethroning,” he’d gasped while trailing his finger across the pages. “And these are the former academy students who were expelled for speaking out toward you... That’s the leader of the western bandits! He’s in a dungeon, but... Those names here below him must be what remains of his crew. Your Majesty... This truly is a rebel force.”

Rucke may have hidden his resources well, but once Rivan had that much to go on, he’d found everyone that connected rebels to the mastermind. Setting one of Rucke’s hiding places on fire had been one last evidence to point at him, as he now bore a forged copy of what would damn him.

If all went well. Minerva was prepared for the opposite. In truth, she expected a fight.

Minerva had arranged for a stool to be set by her side. Maria sitting with her back straight and mouth a thin line, looking every bit like a princess. She was flanked by her usual guards, spears drawn and resting against their shoulders.

Palla sat beside Minerva in her chair by the throne, and while she was adorned in her braided crown and circlet, she looked more like a soldier. She kept her eyes dead ahead and her fingers resting on her sword, shoulders tense as though the concept of sitting burned at her.

The sounds of calm but restrained movement carried through the southern corridors. He was on his way. Minerva reached her hand out to Palla, and she took it, a shared silent call for strength.

When the great southern door opened, they let go.

Rucke was not supposed to be aware of the reason for her hasty summons, but she expected word to have leaked and reached his ears regardless. He was the centerpiece, rarely ignorant. But he might have underestimated her, because he betrayed no knowledge when he stepped into the throne room. He looked comfortable, knowing he belonged, believing to have them all under his heel.

“Your majesties,” he greeted. “Your highness.”

His gaze flickered over the assembly, likely wondering why his place was on the floor while Ida and Rivan stood close to Minerva’s side, but his smile was still silky and aiming to please.

“I appreciate the attention you clearly give the fire at the Academy,” he continued, eyes lingering on Catria. “Quite harrowing indeed. It was a good thing I was there to prevent anyone getting injured, and in the end, it was no trouble. So why the audience, if I may?”

The doors were pushed shut, and still Rucke’s smile did not falter. _I am untouchable_ , his stance told her, eyes sparking with confidence as he met her gaze. _You have your crown, but its power is mine._

Minerva no longer pretended like she did not see his loathing. She stared right back. “I have questions only you can answer.”

“About the fire? I assure you, I had nothing to do with it.” One more flicker of his gaze over the assembly, followed by a lighthearted smile. “By the looks of this, it is suspected that I am somehow to blame!”

He said it as though the very thought was ridiculous, but when Minerva didn’t object, hesitation shone through his confidence.

She would not dance around the matter any further. Minerva broke his gaze and brought the documents out from the inner pocket of her jacket, unfolded them slowly.

“Do you recognize these?” she asked without looking up. “You have signed them, so I believe you do.”

Rucke’s smile had died, only a thin, impatient line on his face. “I sign many things, your majesty. I do not recognize that, no.”

“Names,” Minerva continued, ignoring him. “Registered as troops, but not processed or archived. The one responsible for this has broken a dozen mercenary laws. So tell me, why is your signature here?”

Rucke smiled again, shrugging. “It would not be the first time someone would try to drag my name through the mud. It’s forgery, your majesty. Plain and simple.”

Minerva wished she could lift Maria into an embrace and thank her over and over again. She had been the one to point out that a few signed documents didn’t tie Rucke to the whole thing, and that they needed him to ensnare himself. And, as Catria then pointed out, he was predictable. They knew when he’d be at the academy, they knew where he kept these papers, so quite literally smoking him out would not be that difficult, all things considered.

“This is no forgery,” Minerva answered calmly. “What you have on you, however, is. Search him.”

She watched him go paler. She would give him some credit; he didn’t try to run. Though that wouldn’t suit him – he relied on silver words and disarming smiles, and without them, he had already lost.

“There is no need for that,” Rucke snapped quickly, raising his arms in defense from the queen’s guards moving closer. “It’s right here.”

He pulled the forged papers out of his pocket without fanfare, still calm. “I see the misunderstanding,” he began. “Really, I applaud your thoroughness, your majesty. This was meant to be completed before you saw it.”

 _From the other end of a spear, you mean_ , Minerva nearly snapped back, but stayed silent, waiting.

“It is part of my duties as a general to find people fit to save Macedon from any outward threats…” Rucke was choosing his words very carefully, but she did not intend to be led astray by them. “This was the first drafting to a… secret force, if you will. With part of our army operating below ground, we’ll be underestimated in the event of an attack.”

“A secret army,” Minerva repeated coldly, letting her eyes wander over the list of names again. “Beyond the knowledge of your queen, with your name responsible… That is what’s called a coup, _General_.”

The relief of being condescending in return, making up for all those times Minerva had stayed silent, was as cathartic as she’d dreamed. Rucke opened his mouth, but she did not let him speak. 

“Now tell me,” she continued. “Why is every single name among these hundreds a jailed murderer or displeased former military officer?”

Rucke’s brow gleamed, but his voice didn’t falter. “Oh, I was merely inspired by your majesty. Your mercy toward the wicked – my special troops should be recreated in that image—“

“ _Your_ troops”, Minerva interrupted him, feeling a flame inside her chest. “Tell me, does this mean they would rally behind my order, or yours?”

The silence lasted for but a moment, but it pressed hard enough, even the guards seemed unable to breathe.

“So this _is_ a trial,” Rucke’s smile was still plastered on his face, but his eyes burned with humiliated fury. “I find the lack of a judge... concerning.”

Minerva’s gaze burned right back. “Your judge is before you.”

It was a part of the crown. Her father had been one, and her grandmother before that. Minerva had never been one to embrace the possibility, she had enough duties as it was, but she’d make an exception this once.

“Of course,” Rucke said smoothly, as he closed his eyes and angled his face to the ceiling. “How foolish of me. Very well, Minerva the Merciful, I have put my life in your hands. Even if you were to cast me in a dungeon I would sing praises to your kindness, I swear it—“

“Cease your ramblings!”

Minerva hated him, and she could finally stop pretending otherwise. Her tone was intentional in its callousness, daring him to speak against her. He didn’t, the silence lasting for a mere moment before she continued.

“You unheeded your place, you chose _treason_. Do not think me lenient; I will retaliate as is deserved.”

Every single queensguard looked to her; not in confusion, exactly, but they seemed to expect another Michalis to walk out of Minerva’s skin. She’d spoken dangerous words, but they’d been carefully chosen. She couldn’t be soft. The crown had passed through bloodshed enough times, and she needed to defend it from yet another downfall.

The room held its breath as she stared Rucke down, watched his calculating face. He must know that a death penalty was off the table; she couldn’t go against her own rulings that easily, and she still didn’t want to. But she needed him gone, she needed him so far away he could never threaten the Macedon she fought for again.

“General Rucke...” Her voice was low, but the absolute silence carried her decree to the furthest corners. “... I hereby sentence you to lifelong exile. You, along with every other traitor you’ve gathered. You are demoted from your rank. You have lost every privilege as a citizen of any nation on this continent and beyond. By decree of the royal crown, I banish you to the wastelands north of Archanea, and you may never leave. Councillor of Security, take him away.”

Ida smiled gleefully and snapped her fingers, and at that moment, Rucke’s calculating gaze shattered. His face breaking into something that Minerva had never seen before. It was genuine emotion—seeing it like this, she realized that nothing else he’d emoted had been true. Not even the small slips of disappointment. This outcry, however, was not muted in the slightest.

“That’s murder,” he shouted, straining against the guards that had grasped his shoulders. “You—you’d have us freeze to death, you bloodthirsty hound, you depraved Dragoon—!”

She fought the urge to respond. If he attempted to hurt her feelings by hurling names she hated, he’d have to try harder, although she wished she’d been wise enough to have arranged a way to muffle the man.

“You’ll regret this,” Rucke kept howling. “You’re powerless, you’re _incompetent_ , I’ll hurl your head off your shoulders, I’ll gut your sister and—damn you, let _go_ of me—“

He thrashed against one of the guards, managed to get his left arm free. Within a moment he had drawn his short sword, teeth bared.

Minerva made sure to look him in the eye, soak in the bleeding hatred therein. Finally, he was honest with her. Finally, she could face her problems head-on, see her face reflected in a blade.

Minerva didn’t move, knowing she didn’t need to. In the corner of her eye, Palla had sprung from her chair quickly enough for it to topple behind her. Her motions untraceable, Palla swung her sword in a brutal arc and drove it into a parry that rang through the room.

It would have been enough to parry with how the guards were winning the fight to hold Rucke back, but Palla moved regardless. Even without a gauntlet, she grabbed hold of both their blades and slammed her shoulder into his wrist, her left elbow intentionally knocking into his face on the way.

She’d disarmed him within the space of a breath. Palla may be nearing her thirties, but she held her ground among the most skilled sword wielders in Macedon, of that there was no doubt.

Rucke howled wordlessly, in pain or fury, it didn’t matter. He’d lost all momentum, the guards dragging him back, and yet he struggled against them. Minerva stared at him impassively, and she could tell how much it pained him that she didn’t react, didn’t acknowledge his display. He began another string of insults as he tried to tear free again, but one hit with Palla’s cross-guard interrupted all his second attempts. Dazed, he was dragged toward the entrance.

An exile. A no-one. She’d never have to see him again.

Her eyes darted to Maria, who stood absolutely quiet. She was pale, her fingers clutched together on her lap. Rucke had threatened her, too.

“Are you all right?” Minerva asked her, a careful hand on her arm. Maria nodded, catching her hand and squeezing it.

Minerva could hear a few breaths released around the room, felt the tense air around them ease—it was as though the queensguards recognized Minerva again and was revealed that the cruel mirage that had possessed her for a few minutes was gone again.

That, if nothing else, reminded Minerva that the procedure wasn’t truly done. She’d denounced Rucke in front of a room full of witnesses, and left no doubt of his guilt—he’d seen to that, himself.

She got to her feet and looked to Rivan. His eyes were as dark as ever as he stared at the closing southern door.

“First General,” she announced, looking straight at Rivan. “You have the list of names. You know what must be done.”

Rivan dipped his brow at her. “I will see to it immediately, your majesty.”

He called a short order, and the uncertain queensguards responded with newfound confidence. None of them had been in any way related to the names on the list, of that Minerva had made sure, and she believed in the loyalty they displayed, saluting her with their hands softly against their chests before they hurried after Rivan.

The throne room got oddly empty without the mass of queensguard soldiers. Ida had lingered, still smiling wider than she’d ever had before.

“Nicely done, majesties,” she said as her own dismissal. “We’ll happily make sure the man rots where he belongs… Soon as we wrap up the rest. I’d better make sure the First General kid does all right, or what say you?”

Minerva simply nodded at her. She’d exhausted her words for the time being.

Left alone, Palla finally sheathed her sword, her eyes burning. Minerva put her hand on hers, feeling every tendon tense as a bowstring.

“The things he said,” she breathed. “I ought to have cut him down.”

“There was no need to stain your blade and name,” Minerva said.

Catria had carefully ascended the step to the throne, crouching beside Maria and stroking her back, before she shifted uncomfortably.

“I dunno, Commander,” she murmured. “I kind of agree with Palla on this one. We should’ve killed him. I mean, this…" She hesitated for a moment, eyes set on the closed door. "...This is how you make enemies.”


End file.
